LC Excerpt 3 part 3

Chapter 21

Our vehicles slowly approach the police station, cautiously closing the distance to the target, leaving adequate space between each vehicle. There's a subway station's aboveground entrance to the left of the police station and a bakery to the right, but the enemy is nowhere to be seen. I open my reinforced window slightly, enough to stick my pistol's barrel through. I let off a shot, then wait.

Nothing.

Those spineless cowards, where are they? Again I fire and wait as the rest of our vehicles arrive.

Nothing.

My mind comes up with three options. One, they've garrisoned the police station, which seems unlikely as they should have fired upon us as soon as we approached. Two, they're waiting for us in an adjacent structure, ready to converge on the building once we enter. This is the best-case scenario, for if they make this miscalculation and believe they've cornered us, lulling them into a false sense of security, the two groups waiting east and west of here will close in and make easy work of them.

There's a third possibility. Perhaps they went and hid in the metro tunnels. Of the three options, this's the most complicated. Many civilians have made the tunnels their home as the war wages on above them, and the enemy may use them as a shield against our offensive. Hopefully, they're unaware of the sizeable civilian presence below.

Finally, growing impatient, we exit and approach the station.

We enter the building without incident, quickly securing the first floor. Leaving two men by the entrance, the rest of us work our way up the structure. As we proceed without incident, I grow increasingly uneasy, the idea of the enemy holding our people hostage underground growing ever more likely as we ascend undisturbed.

Gunfire and yelling below come from below, and I'm immensely relieved despite the immediate danger. Although the enemy is attacking us, at least our people remain undetected below the street.

"Move in," I radio and hustle towards the stairs, ready for a fight.

…

Genya receives the transmission, and his unit approaches the action. He turns the corner and sees at the front door of the police station a group of men who fire in Genya's direction. He runs to a nearby vehicle and uses it as cover as his squad returns fire.

Genya peaks to aim and notices the third squad approaching from behind the unaware enemy.

Genya hollers, "Get down!"

Genya's unit drops to the ground, and after a moment, there's an increase in gunfire.

It doesn't last long.

The street is quiet again, with sounds of fighting from inside the building and explosions in the distance soft whispers relative to the recent action.

The two squads cautiously converge, securing the entrance of the station.

…

I throw a flash bang down a stairwell, then quickly rush to the other nearby stairwell. With two men behind me, I charge down the stairs and catch a couple of enemies with their backs turned, putting them down in quick succession.

I receive word that the troops outside secured the front and await further orders. I tell them to find cover and wait as we push the enemy out and then finish them off if the enemies flee.

Slowly, we move in the opposite direction from when we arrived, methodically securing floor by floor yet again. The enemy puts up a good fight, but we clear them out one by one. Finally, the building is secure, and those who fled lie dead outside the front door.

A sigh of relief. Another pack of enemies cleared from the city.

I join the men outside, who remain on guard, pleased with their performance.

Genya slaps me on the back and hollers, "Well done. They didn't see us coming. Silk could learn a thing or two about smoothness from that operation. Why you've always avoided promotion to a commanding rank is beyond me. You're a natural leader. Where to next?"

I smile and respond, "Lot of work left to do. Let's find out."

I radio into command and update them on our progress. My commander's scratchy voice sounds pleased despite using no language to reveal his satisfaction. He updates me on the situation in the northeast of the city. They're losing the fight and need all available units there right away. Happy to support my brothers and sisters defending our city, I confirm the order and let them know we will resupply and be on our way.

Chapter 22

I watch as my men are surrounded. We are meant to be their backup, but as I witness the two surrounding units closing in on the entrance, I order those with me to remain silent as our men on the ground are slaughtered. All but three of my original platoon, other than myself, are dead.

I learn our army has been successful elsewhere in the city as I request reinforcements. A company is free, so I ask they split and approach just as the enemy did.

Perhaps I've begun to adopt our leader's mentality when it comes to warfare: if, at first, you don't succeed, throw more bodies into the grinder until you get what you want.

I light a cigarette and slip deeper into the building across from the police station. Now, we wait.

Chapter 23

I radio the men we left behind to operate the drones, telling them to recall the UAVs, pack up and be ready for pickup.

After the fighting outside the secured police station, my run-flat took damage and is leaking air, so I'll ride with James to our next destination. He's parked on a cobblestone road outside the metro stairs, where he and Genya replenish ammo and other spent munitions.

I take a moment to be by myself and think before approaching James's vehicle.

"Ready for another fight?" I ask.

James looks at me and responds, "Of course!"

Again I reflect on how different the young man is from when he was shaking and inconsolable. Any indication of fear is gone; instead, he radiates power. The confident smirk on his dirty face speaks of someone who knows what they're doing and isn't afraid to get their hands dirty.

He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a circular silver locket. Opening it, he gazes at its contents before turning it to me. He says, "This is her. This is who I do all this for."

A bright picture of James and a young woman on a beach stares back at me. James has his arm around her, kissing the blushing woman on the cheek.

"This is from our first date. We strolled along the beach for hours but didn't get far before I understood I was crazy about her. We stopped for ice cream on the boardwalk and asked a passerby to take a picture of us. She didn't expect me to plant one on her cheek. That's why I love this picture so much. It's so natural, and she's so beautiful, especially when she's blushing. It's been all about her since, and I'll never stop fighting for her. I know we have to roll, but I just wanted to say thanks for straightening me out earlier. I'd probably be on a bus running from the fight if it weren't for you and Genya. This is my fight, our fight, and there's nowhere I'd rather be than by your sides defending our home."

I smile at the hero and reach out a hand.

He shakes my hand with a firm grip.

"Well said, soldier."

Burning pain engulfs my midsection and upper leg.

I fall to the ground.

My panicked mind registers gunfire from everywhere at once.

My breathing is rapid.

My blood flows between the cobblestones.

My hands press against my wounds.

I lift my head just in time to witness Genya's skull explode. His body crumples next to mine, what remains of his head gaping at me.

More gunfire.

James falls limp on top of me.

I try to press his body off mine.

It's no use.

I can barely budge him.

Curse the enemy.

Curse the heavens.

What sick hell is this?

Bleeding hatred and disgust as my consciousness fades, my heavy eyelids obstruct the light.

Chapter 26

I come to, excruciating pain radiating from my core. I open my eyes with difficulty, and after some time, when my eyes finally regain focus, I take in my surroundings.

I'm resting on my side in a green sleeping bag. As far as I can see, a row of sleeping bags stretches out in front of me, some empty and some occupied. A young mother, three sleeping bags over from me, nurses a newborn baby. Beyond her, an older man and a teenage girl play a card game together by candlelight. Hundreds of people are sheltering here, but where exactly is here? With tremendous effort, I sit up, the pain multiplying a hundredfold as I do. From a seated position, it's clear where I am. Tracks run parallel to the tall grey walls and the extended platform of the metro tunnel, which is functioning as a temporary shelter. A table is covered in large silver pots, at which the chefs serve food to a line of hungry people as others socialize.

A woman approaches me with concern on her exhausted face. Her skin is fair, her long golden hair is tied back, and her slim figure expresses not a healthy lifestyle but the need for adequate nutrition.

She kneels beside me and examines the dressings over my wounds.

"Welcome back to the land of the living. You've been out for some time. How're you feeling?"

"Like ten tons of shit, to be honest. How did I get down here? We were in a firefight and then…." A sudden recollection of what transpired aboveground silences me, the ensuing surge of grief exponentially worse than the physical pain I'm enduring.

The woman senses my pain and embraces me in a gentle hug. Tears roll from my eyes, but I don't make a sound. Squeezing my eyes tight in an attempt to stop my tears, my eyelids create a dark canvas on which my mind projects its last memory before unconsciousness.

Genya's mangled face, mouth untouched and wide open, everything above his nose a bloody mess.

James' body upon mine, my horror as I desperately tried to push him off me, his warm blood soaking through my uniform.

Darkness.

After a long embrace, the woman lets me go. She removes her backpack and reaches into the biggest compartment, from which she produces a bottle of water, a cup, and a loaf of bread. She pours a cup of water and hands it to me before unwrapping the bread and tearing a large piece off. After I quickly drain the cup, she takes it from me and gives me the bread. I eat the bread just as quickly, my appreciative stomach feeling as if I haven't eaten in days.

The woman hands me the refilled cup before saying, "A couple days ago, you were in a skirmish above this station. We were terrified. We imagined, at any moment, soldiers would find us, drag us out, and chuck us God knows where. After the action died down, a few of our scouts went topside to see if they could salvage anything of value from the fallen. That's where they found you, barely breathing. You took a couple shots, but lucky for you, we have a few doctors sheltering down here who performed some magic with what little they had and got you patched up. The question was whether you would wake up or if infection or internal bleeding would get the best of you. But here you are.

You may be wondering about your gear. We dressed you in civvies and hid everything you arrived with somewhere safe in case we're raided. If the worst should happen, you can hopefully blend in as an injured civilian who was unable to join the army. For now, it's best you eat and get some more rest."

She tears another piece of bread from the loaf and offers it to me.

Comprehending the enemy still roams our streets arouses my rage, and I try to stand.

Blinding pain devours my consciousness.

I black out.

As I come to, the woman repositions a pillow under my head. Once she's sure I'm comfortable, she runs a hand through my hair.

"I can only imagine what you've been through, but you're in no condition to do anything but get yourself killed. If you want to avenge your friends, rest and recover. You'll be up and running in no time, and then you can give those bastards hell."

She strokes my head as I surrender to her request and close my eyes.

Chapter 27

The city has changed hands, but at least there's no more fighting. Anything is better than a constant barrage of artillery. I will never submit to the will of the invaders, but it's nice not to constantly be on edge, waiting for that damn air-raid siren's dreary song.

It's kind of funny. After months of the daily sirens, people stopped paying them any mind. They moaned, and the city's citizens just groaned and went on with their days as if a cat in heat was whining rather than a run-for-your-life alarm was blaring. For me, the most annoying part of it all was that stores would lock up when the sirens sang. One time, I had to wait forty minutes to pick up a package because some asshole thought it was strategic to fire rockets at our energy infrastructure. The funny thing is, on that occasion, the idiot missed, and the projectile landed in a nearby scrapyard where it belonged. How you can constantly miss your targets is beyond me. I heard they're using kids to operate their artillery since our army killed so many of their grown-ups.

The occupiers are rough, and I've heard of people being tortured during interrogations. Apparently, they believe some of us have information of value.

I stay out of their way. No reason to poke the bear.

They confiscate what they need from us without question. Refusal is subject to a beating.

Many of our younger residents have been relocated to enemy territory, likely to areas with low birth rates or an insufficient labour force.

I've heard stories of women being taken against their will to serve as the occupier's pleasure pets, but I've yet to witness any firsthand proof of this as it's been a long time since I was an object of fancy. It's the first time I've considered my wilted looks a blessing. Not being harassed or worse by the occupiers is worth not being a beauty queen anymore.

They enforce curfews, but that's no different than what my people's government implemented after the war began.

Many buildings are boarded up, but several stores still operate as usual, and the occupiers even got the heat running for us.

Of course, when comparing life now to the last seven months, I see a substantial improvement. It could definitely be worse.

Yet, from my apartment's west-facing window, I spend my time silently staring into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of our soldiers marching to liberate us.

Any day now, I know it.

Despite being subject to tyrannical authority, it's nice to finally have some peace and quiet.

Chapter 29

Get up.

I've fallen again, another failed attempt at walking without crutches. While I've made significant progress toward a full recovery, I'm far from ship shape. But I'm getting there, at least physically. My mind is another story, plagued by horrible nightmares, the gazes of my fallen compatriots haunting my subconscious every night, confusion on their sombre faces. Last night Genya asked me, "Why aren't you fighting? Why do you lie there while our bodies decay? Why won't you avenge us?"

I'm doing everything in my power, but it feels far from enough.

It didn't take long before the enemy forced the rest of our soldiers from our city, which they now occupy. So when I'm out, I stay in the shadows, a messy beard covering my humourless face.

I know each street's name and where every store should be, yet it's as if I'm in an alternate universe. The enemy flag flies above the roads, mocking me whenever I lift my gaze. They've renamed many streets and replaced some local stores with national ones. Banks now only offer the enemy's currency, so we make daily transactions with enemy coins.

The only circulated newspaper tells of the conqueror's glorious victories against the oppressive regime that once ruled here. The tales they spin would be comical if it weren't for the more susceptible among our population seeming to believe every falsehood they hear. Or perhaps they've decided it's better to conform than resist. It's understandable, yet seeing them readily welcome the new leadership makes me nauseous.

No matter how the state-sponsored media outlet twists the facts, those of us who value the truth above all else will continue reading between the lines, scavenging for what little truth can be salvaged.

The paper also tells of atrocities committed by our military. It goes as far as to accuse our army of stealing from and even butchering our civilians. They call it an attempt to incriminate their noble military. The audacity of these propagandists, but they silence any dissenters, so who is left here to dispute their claims? I could, but it's unwise to draw attention to myself. No, it's best to keep my head down while I recover. At least, while healing, I can gather intel and support the cause.

Our schools have begun teaching only the enemy's patriotic curriculum, which consists of even more far-fetched tales than those published in the daily newspaper. Savage massacres have become glorious conquests. Silencing public demonstrations has become the government's measure to keep us all safe.

As a result of this worthless instruction, many parents choose not to send their kids to school. But rather than neglecting our youths' education, we have formed an underground school system. Here, in our language, we teach everything from STEM subjects to our country's extensive history.

They wish to wipe our past away and retell our story with forked tongues, but no matter how many revisions our history textbooks undergo, we will never forget where we came from.

For one reason or another, the occupiers prefer to go after certain citizens more than others. While we have very few options for sneaking people out of the city, those at-risk citizens, along with our elderly, sick and young, receive first priority when evac opportunities present themselves.

Plenty of abandoned residences are available, and food is easily obtainable, yet many still suffer. Medication is scarce, and what we can get our hands on must be carefully rationed. The same goes for hygiene products and fuel. While I have taken a management role on the distribution team, I choose not to announce my leadership to the citizens. Instead, I work tirelessly behind the scenes lest a traitor recognizes me and informs the occupiers of my military history.

Despite my hunger to fight, this is the best I can do right now. I keep my sisters and brothers nourished, clean, warm and educated.

Despite the inescapable enemy presence, I will continue going out of my way to serve my people.

…

I'm standing on my own two feet again. Although I'm hobbling, it's better than having to rely on crutches to get around. The pain in my side is just a part of life now, and despite it, I feel better than I have in some time.

My improving health is just one of the reasons my spirits have been rising. I also received news that our army is preparing a counter-offensive. Understandably, they didn't divulge many details. Instead, they simply let us know help is on the way.

I'm indistinguishable from a machine right now, constantly moving, helping in any way I can. There's never a shortage of work, yet I still find time to devise a little plan.

We collected the materials needed to craft explosives. My thinking is straightforward: destabilizing the enemy's defences will make it that much easier for our troops to march through them when they arrive. I've carefully observed the enemy's military throughout the occupation and have a good idea of where they store their ammunition and best vehicles.

The plan I devise is risky, but with a map of the sewers I obtained early on from city hall, it isn't impossible.

Many in my group are eager to help, but I keep my circle small as lately, those who have expressed the slightest nationalist view toward our home country ended up disappearing. It's clear there are eyes and ears among us, but up until this point, we've been unable to identify the traitor or traitors.

A young brainiac, Igor, was building our bombs in the basement of an abandoned apartment building. Naturally, we kept his location secret from all except a chosen few, but despite our best efforts, my morning stroll presents me with a disturbing scene. The young man hangs from a streetlight, body swaying with the breeze, a noose snugly around his neck.

The next day, the newspaper calls his death a tragedy, mentioning his intelligence and concluding his suicide likely was a result of his tortured genius.

We let a few days pass before, in the dead of night, investigating the basement he worked in, hoping to recover anything of use. Instead, we discover the basement was turned upside down, and nothing of value was left. There's blood splattered on the filthy floor and two pinky fingers in a plastic cup.

The fact that none of the other members of our group have been questioned tells of Igor's refusal to rat us out despite apparent torture.

Luckily, we have more materials to produce the explosives than what we stored in this basement, a precaution implemented to prevent losing everything if this very situation should occur. Igor shared the recipe for his explosive goodies with me in case he could not complete his project, so I take it upon myself to create the IEDs. Surprisingly, the work is relatively easy and quickly finished.

Next, the fun part.

…

My hobble is a distant memory, so I casually walk to my first objective. Despite every part of me begging to excitedly dash, it's best to maintain a low profile as my backpack is full of explosives.

I climb through a manhole in an empty alley, switch on my flashlight, and navigate the putrid tunnels. Finally, I arrive at a ladder in what I believe to be the correct location, double-check my map, and ascend the ladder. Silently as possible, I lift the manhole cover, despite the exertion generating shooting pains in my side.

It's my lucky day. A large green vehicle is parked right beside the manhole. It's equipped with a turret and looks big enough to comfortably carry ten men. It's a shame to destroy such a beauty, but that's just the way things go sometimes. I also glimpse several other sets of tires next to the goliath.

We waited two extra days for a cloudy night to better conceal our actions, but still, the full moon glows unobstructed in a starry sky. Although tonight isn't ideal, the counter-offensive is days away, so tonight will have to do. I slide the manhole cover aside just enough to place a black package on the ground, then immediately close it.

I run to my next destination and arrive winded but excited. I check my watch and see I've made good time, still having twelve minutes to kill.

The device at the last location will serve two purposes. One is to destroy a crucial vehicle. While destroying the vehicle is reward enough, the detonation will also serve as a distraction. Placing a much larger IED next to their weapon depot will require me to exit the sewer. With attention on the first explosion, I hope to plant the second and disappear without notice.

I check my watch. Still two minutes. I climb the ladder. Once at the top, I watch as my watch's second hand takes snail-paced steps. With five seconds left, I lift the manhole cover. As I slide it to one side, I'm greeted by a ground-shaking detonation. Smiling, I poke my head out of the hole and glance around. Air alarms sound as soldiers rush from buildings, staring at the explosion or hurrying to their vehicles. I jump from my hiding spot and run to the rear of the building to be demolished. I place my backpack in the centre of the wall, and position rubbish around it, completely hiding it from view. It has a two-hour timer, so it needs to remain undetected. I debated whether this was too long of a timer but decided it best to wait for everyone to return before detonation. It would be wrong to start the bonfire before our lovely new neighbours return.

I retreat into the sewer and saunter back to where I entered the tunnel earlier, whistling the whole way.

Returning to our headquarters without issue, I'm greeted by a group of citizens and a couple bottles of homemade vodka. Although only five men know I'm responsible for the scrambling soldiers outside, and none know of the second part of my plan, most have put two and two together and so welcome me merrily.

I drink to freedom and laugh heartily despite checking my watch about ten thousand times.

As the man next to me fills our cups once again, there is some commotion outside. Despite being well on the way to intoxication, my mind immediately sobers when the door crashes open and soldiers pour in.

What transpires is a painful blur. The man who kept generously filling our glasses points at me and says, "That's him."

After a short beating, I'm thrown into the trunk of a car.

I'm transported to a prison cell, where I'm given a few minutes to rest before being dragged away. This time my destination is a dimly lit room, which they haul me into and shackle me to a chair. Unable to free my arms or legs, I take in my surroundings. It looks like the room was once a classroom. Most of the chairs and tables have been stacked on the far side of the room. On the other side, where I sit, is my chair and a desk covered with tools.

They interrogated me at first but quickly transitioned to torture. They don't seem to care if I'm withholding useful information; instead, they just want revenge for their wrecked equipment. They start by beating me, then pull out a couple teeth. Strangely, I feel dissociated from my body, my mind counting the seconds, waiting for the glorious moment inching closer.

I grin as they hook cables to my left shackle and right earlobe. Electricity surges, my body convulses, and my eyes see white lights. However, my mind carries me away from the pain, the white lights becoming stars, serving as beautiful background as my mind shows me the weapon depot exploding in slow motion. It's magnificent.

They shut the electricity and punch me a few more times before a blast shakes the entire building. The magnitude of this explosion makes the last seem like a balloon popping. The soldiers panic and race from the room, leaving me alone.

I sing.

I start with our country's national anthem, belting it out as loud as my depleted body will allow. Then, once finished, I recite a song my mother would sing to me before bed when I was young. Despite not hearing it for decades, it flows from my lips effortlessly.

In my mind, I see Genya and James beaming at the decimated depot, and my heart radiates joy. Despite being unable to directly fight the enemy, at least I weakened those sons of bitches. I struggle to take a deep, painful breath, then continue my mother's song.

The door opens, causing me to flinch, but I refuse to stop singing. My body tenses, prepared for another beating, but relaxes at the sight of the man in the doorway.

He approaches singing the same song, stressing the same parts, every note trembling slightly. He continues singing as he undoes my restraints. Once free, he puts my arm around him and lifts me, helping me to my feet. We go silent as we exit the room, turning left and heading toward the nearest exit.

We walk to a nearby car. He helps me into the back, lays me down, then enters and starts the engine. Finally breaking the silence, he turns to me and asks, "Where will you be safe?"

I give him a location, and he smiles and nods, then starts driving.

We arrive at an old building. The street is deserted as it's past curfew. He helps me from the vehicle and to the entrance. We enter through an open door, then climb up a tight stairway. I dig through my pocket until I find a small silver key, but it's difficult focusing enough to put it into the lock. He grabs and steadies my wrist so I can unlock the old green door, and we enter the apartment.

I switch the lights on, kick off my boots, then turn to see my brother with tears in his eyes.

Unmoving, he gazes at the place he once called home. While he has his moment, I walk the short distance to the living room before collapsing onto the couch.

Never the sentimental type, I shout, "Make yourself useful and grab me a beer," breaking my brother from his daze. He scowls at me, then walks to the kitchen. He returns with two beers, twists the cap off one, and hands it to me. Sitting in the armchair across me, he opens his beer and takes a long drink. We sit quietly as we finish our drinks, then I break the silence, "So, you finally come visit. Took you long enough. Still can't believe you missed Dad's funeral. We held a nice ceremony, and a bunch of his friends showed up. They were asking about you. Remember Serhii? He bought a new truck. It's a real beauty. You should have—"

"How can you make small talk! Are you fucking insane? Don't you understand how fucked everything is? My country's leader has lost his mind. He's ordered nuclear weapons to be readied and is conscripting everyone from boys to cripples. He's willing to throw everything at this operation, and all you want to talk about is Serhii's new truck!"

I wait a second before responding, "It's good to see you, is all. A lot of people have died on both sides, and I was worried you might have been one of them. How's the family? Everyone doing okay?"

My brother sighs, his anger subsiding at the mention of his family. He finishes his beer, stands and grabs two more. After handing me a fresh one, he sits and replies, "Everyones good. I miss them more every day. More than anything, I want to be back home. You remember how cozy it is during the winter at my place. The fireplace keeps everything toasty, and the blanketed landscape sparkles in the sunlight outside."

He massages his temples. "I fucking hate this war."

Raising my bottle, I say, "I'll drink to that."

Chapter 30

Glory to our nation!

We sing, we dance, we laugh, we cry. Festivities began three days ago, and there's no end in sight. And why should there be?

We applaud our army's valiant defence of our nation.

We honour those we lost who stood up for us and our liberty.

We praise the resilience of our citizens, who bore the strain and found the energy to keep going despite overwhelming circumstances.

We salute our leader, who didn't abandon us when most thought he would.

We thank those who stood by us and aided us during these difficult times.

And we celebrate our country. May it remain as strong as it is today, forever on.

Together we sing our country's traditional songs, our ancestors' lyrics echoing throughout these cheery streets.

The only emotion matching the magnitude of our joy is our relief, relief this is finally over and that we made it through such hardship.

People often speak of freedom, but I doubt any can speak of the sense of freedom I am experiencing today. From an occupation by an enemy to liberation by the folks in green, the lived experiences are night and day.

There was no freedom under occupation. Fear was constant, uncertainty was ever-present, and doing everything right didn't guarantee your safety. An elderly woman being beaten while lying in bed wasn't the consequence of some transgression; instead, it was just the luck of the draw.

The democracy we have isn't perfect, so while we're moving in the right direction, we must ensure our progress isn't hindered by corruption at any level. We smashed through what was supposed to be a superior adversary. Now, we must break through any internal limitations that hold our nation back from being the prosperous country it should be.

While our people are scattered all over the world, anywhere they could find refuge, they will return, and we will rebuild.

We fought for our history. We tell the good and the bad of how we arrived at this point in time.

We fought for our people. The people are our nation's heart. Together we are strong.

We fought for our future, the stories we'll write, the minds we'll shape, and the world we'll build.

And we fought because the fight was worth fighting, it being always better to stand against than be pushed around, even when the consequences are bleak.

I have a toast with my friends, the strong alcohol burning my throat but doing little to alter my mental state. How could it? What can alcohol do to me today? Victory has gotten me higher than the effects of the most potent drugs, and I'm not coming down any time soon.

There were times throughout the conflict when my hope faltered. To be honest, there were more than a few, but then came the moment our president declared, "Together, we are triumphant!" Can you imagine it? The power of his words shook an entire country, nay, the world.

We are free, but will we squander the freedom defended through blood, sweat and sacrifice? Or will we accept the tremendous responsibility of freedom and live the lives we choose in a country we all contribute to?

Freedom can be dangerous, overwhelming, and a downright nightmare at times, but the choice of what to do with one's freedom rests in the hands of the individual. The decision of what to do with one's freedom is not only the choice of our countrymen but of every free person.

I'm just an average Joe, driving a taxi six days a week, but today I feel like a Greek god. We take another shot and scream glory to our nation. I can't say what comes next, but I have some words for the friends who surround me.

"Freedom is precious; never forget. You never know who will try to take yours away. Whether directly or through covert means, there are those who wish to cage you, enslaving your body, mind or soul. Recognize that not all subjugate with armies. It has never been easier to conquer our minds. We must never let down our guard. Beware, be wise, and be just. Most of all, appreciate and enjoy your freedom; God knows life without it isn't life at all."