It’s that spirit, from service members and civilians alike, that has held this country together for over two centuries. That commitment to one’s oath to defend democracy - even to the grave - is what united soldiers. The higher power I did see soldiers turn to most - whether it was during a firefight or while mourning our dead - was that whatever the loss, it was worth it in the name of democracy. This may be true, but I fortunately never found myself counting hand grenades and half empty magazines as an enemy breached our gates overseas. There’s an aphorism in the military, particularly in the chaplain corps, that “there are no atheists in foxholes” - meaning even nonreligious soldiers fighting desperately for their lives would look for comfort in a God. My brain was really asking, “Where is my democracy?” What my former soldier’s mind was missing, and looking for, was assurance.
It wasn’t really the Beretta I was missing. Those horrors crept back into my dreams Wednesday night as I tossed against my unarmed pillow in the dark. looked exactly like the worst case scenario that had looped though my mind every night of that deployment - and in countless nightmares since.
The assault on the Capitol is an affront to all who have worn the uniform.- Secretary Robert Wilkie January 8, 2021īut the scene playing out in D.C. Our #Veterans fought to defend the freedoms that were attacked this week. And more importantly, the country wasn’t anywhere near civil war. I knew I was safe, reporting on the chaos in Washington from my Salt Lake City apartment. The concern came subconsciously and felt ridiculous, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. Watching Trump loyalists overtake the United States Capitol during Wednesday’s amateur insurrection, I instinctively thought, “Where was my Beretta?” And when meeting with Afghan elders or the local government leaders - conducting the Army’s diplomatic “hearts and minds” counterterrorism - the pistol hid in my lower back, an insurance policy tucked into my belt in the event diplomacy failed.īut at night, the Beretta - loaded with a magazine full of 9 mm ammunition - offered a blanket of protection in case our Kandahar base was attacked and overrun. When I ate chow with other lieutenants it sagged in a leather holster on my hip. On patrols it served as a secondary weapon to my rifle. A lanyard attached the sidearm to a loop on my uniform, but wasn’t needed, as it was never out of arm’s reach. It was a heavy, black, Army-issue pistol that looked like it had seen more years of service than I’d had days in uniform. In Afghanistan I slept with a Beretta under my pillow.
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