It was the night before Thanksgiving, but in Afghanistan that didn't mean all that much, not unless you liked being hot and sweaty and walking guard duty with a 15-lb. rifle snuggled into your arms instead of your 6-month-old baby that you had yet to even see in person. It was hard to be thankful for much but PFC Randolph Johnson kept moving and trying to think of things he was thankful for. He constantly swept his eyes over the area surrounding the camp as he walked along, his mind going back to previous Thanksgiving Day dinners he had spent at his parents’ house and what it would be like this year again. The huge turkey – it would have to be huge considering the size of the family – and all the fixings of course. And what a family. At least 17 at last count and that wasn’t counting any aunts, uncles or cousins that might show up unexpectedly. He still had two uncles living, one who had just remarried, and he had lost count of all his cousins. Not that all of them would show up of course, but the immediate family would that was for sure. He started thinking of all of them as he walked, there was himself, (if he had been able to be there), his wife Angela and his 6-month-old baby girl, his oldest brother Marty, Martin that is, with Tina his wife and their two children. Marty was 6 years older than Randolph. Then there was Jeremy who was 3 years older with his wife Mary and their three children. And finally, there was Raymond, a year and a half younger than Randolph, his wife Margaret, and their 1-year-old.

Randolph smiled, thinking of all the noise and laughter that would be going on at the house. What with the TV blaring the current game so all the men could watch, and the kids running around playing. If it was too cold most of them would be inside unless it snowed of course. Then they would all be outside building a snowman or having a snowball fight. The women, or most of them, would be in the kitchen cooking before dinner and cleaning up afterward. He stopped as he thought he saw something and looked out over the desert. When nothing happened, he moved on again. The main thing they impressed on those doing guard duty here was not to stop for very long or you became an easy target. Getting to the end of the area he was patrolling he nodded briefly to PFC Macklin walking the next post, turned and started back again. He looked up at the night sky and smiled at all the bright stars shining above him. That was one good thing about being in the desert, no pollution to block out the night sky. Just a sliver of moon showed but even that seemed bright. He kept walking as he thought again about everything he had or didn't have.

As he walked along, keeping his pace steady, he spoke to himself softly. Voices carried in the night air too. “Lord,” he said softly, “it's so hard for me to feel thankful tonight considering where I am even though I know I should. Oh, I'm thankful for my wife and baby back at home, that they are safe, secure, and happy in Your hands. And I'm thankful for the rest of my family too. Well most of them.” He smiled again as he said that. He and his younger brother, being the closest in age, had had their run-ins of course, most were friendly enough but ... oh well. Randolph reached the end of the patrol area, he nodded briefly to the private walking the other section and turned once more.

“Lord, I am also thankful for the other men in this camp, especially the ones in my squad. We have each other’s backs day and night and that is a wonderful thing. And I'm thankful for being alive at all, considering where I am and what I do.” He stopped then, tilted his head back and looked up at the night sky, feet braced, and smiled. His helmet slid towards the back of his neck a bit and he let it go for the time being. “But Lord, I'm most thankful for You watching over us all and keeping us all safe and secure in Your embrace.”

As the last word left his lips a shot rang out, something hit the back of his head and he fell to the ground. He could hear men shouting, more shots fired, lights came on blinding him for a minute as he lay on the ground. Several men leaned over him, one of them his sergeant. Randolph pushed himself up a bit and nodded to the others that he was fine. The medic that had also come running checked him over quickly and agreed he was okay; had not been shot. The sergeant put his hand on Randolph's arm lightly.

“You okay soldier? What happened?” PFC Johnson looked at the sergeant and shook his head ruefully. Voices called out from outside the compound “All clear!! We got him!!” and people started relaxing and moving off again. Some going back to their posts, others to their bunks. Randolph smiled then shrugged.

“I'm okay Sarge.” he said. “just made a stupid mistake. I stopped patrolling for a minute is all.” He picked up his helmet and turned it around. “I stopped to look up and pray for a minute and my helmet got hit instead of me.” He showed the Sarge the dent at the lowest edge of his helmet where the bullet had hit. The Sarge stared at the helmet, nodded, stood up, and headed off giving orders for the lights to be shut off again and men to get back to their bunks, even though most were already heading in that direction.

Randolph pushed to his feet and found himself being steadied by a single hand. The chaplain was still there standing and watching him quietly. “I hope you remember to thank God for watching over you tonight son.” the chaplain said quietly. Randolph smiled.

“Sir, that's what I was doing when I was almost shot. Guess He wanted me to know how thankful I should be.” Settling his newly dented helmet back on his head, PFC Randolph Johnson picked up his rifle and went back to his post.

The End

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