What a U.S. soldier in Nevada has to do with the Middle East [Guideline]
You stare at the screen. Gray dots are moving across the surface.
With a small movement of the joystick, you let the MQ-9 Reaper fighter drone descend. Then you hear the familiar alarm sound: the drone has targeted one of the dots.
“That’s him!” the general says excitedly.
Indeed! It’s the person you were looking for, he’s boarding a truck fully loaded with ammunition….
What about the other dots? You can’t tell whether they’re carrying any weapons, everything’s too blurry.
And that small figure behind the truck? A child?
The people on the screen look so fake, as if the desert floor they’re standing on doesn’t belong to a country on the other side of the globe, but to a planet on the other side of the universe.
It’s like a computer game. Just a game.
“Fire!”
The code is written, the program is ready to run.
Your finger hovers over the enter key.
In a few minutes, Ramstein Air Base will completely collapse, the systems hacked by a refugee from Yemen who no longer wants to watch the killing.
Bitterly smile.
You thought Germany was a peace – loving country.
But they allow the U.S. to kill people in your country from their soil. Time to put an end to the haunting – “Have you gone mad?”
Your husband storms into the room.
“Stop that right now! What you’re doing is irresponsible.” He looks at you pleadingly.
“Please! We risked so much to make it to Germany! If anyone finds out who shut down Ramstein, our lives will be in danger! They’ll kick us out, send us back to Yemen, or kill us right now!”
“Please!” your husband repeats, “Think about the children!”
Something convulses inside you.
Images flicker through your head: your own children, they are at school, and the nameless children in Yemen, they are starving or being threatened by bombs.
You see the drone circling in the sky like a raptor. Where is Ayasha?
Everything is happening way too fast. The shots are hitting all around you. They hit the old truck, which explodes with a deafening bang.
You are unable to move as people fall to the ground around you. The drone turns away, the dust settles.
Ayasha! No! You see the girl with severed limbs lying lifeless on the desert floor a few meters away from you.
The world around you collapses. “Ayasha! My child…you monster…!”
You kneel down next to your daughter, start screaming, yelling the injustice to the world, but your pain doesn’t subside.
It’s 11:55 p.m. and the mood in the club is approaching its peak. You order another drink.
Tomorrow you will have to kill again, eliminate terrorists on the other side of the world. But for now, it’s time to party. Your field of vision blurs, the laughter around you reaches its peak.
You don’t notice a hooded person entering the club and unlocking his rifle. By the time the shrieking from the crowd reaches you, it’s already too late to escape.
As you look into the eyes of the young woman in the wheelchair, you are surprised by the calmness in her gaze.
No trace of hatred, although she has lost all her limbs due to your drone.
You spent 10 years looking for her because you couldn’t get the image of the exploding truck and the apparently dead girl out of your head.
“Is there anything I can do to help you forgive me?” you ask.
“You destroyed my childhood,” she whispers, “My country is in ruins. Father died a few years ago. The people of Yemen are suffering, and your country has quietly left…”
“You can’t change all that. But there is one thing you can do: Help me get the government to finally close Ramstein!”
The city looks deserted: The residents who were smart enough have fled a long time ago.
Others who didn’t want to leave their homes are now buried under their former houses. When you were a drone pilot, war always seemed like a game to you.
Now you find yourself in the middle of this game of life and death, as part of the U.S. ground forces on the front lines.
Since Ramstein has been regularly crippled by hacker attacks, the U.S. is once again relying on the direct deployment of soldiers.
You’ve been promoted, you’re fighting for the nation’s values and security, and you’re earning a decent salary.
But that doesn’t change the fact that you could be shot at any moment by a Taliban lurking behind.the collapsed houses.
You need to find your squad before it gets dark. You won’t survive a night alone in a Taliban-controlled city.
You carefully make your way through the mountains of rubble when you sense movement ten meters to your right. Your heartbeat accelerates.
Something is lying on the ground, twitching convulsively. A wounded Taliban?
It was a Taliban ambush.
Almost at the same moment as the shot breaks the silence, you are surrounded by fighters holding their guns on you.
You know what is now going to happen.
It’s your comrade, covered in blood. He has lost consciousness. But his radio is still working! You are saved.
Half an hour later, you are sitting in the helicopter, which is moving swiftly away from Kandahar and heading for your base. You look at your hands, which are covered in your comrade’s blood.
Will another US soldier die for a war that has no end and in which there are no victors?
“General!” When you refused the order back then, you never expected to get promoted.
But after it emerged that the man identified by the drone was not the wanted warlord at all, but the father of a family of seven children, the public put on the pressure.
You are now in the National Security Department and have command of the missile interceptors on the West Coast.
You must not allow 9/11 to repeat itself.
It is almost certain that the plane was hijacked and that the terrorists are targeting the bridge.
But it is just as certain that there are 400 innocent people on board.
Pandemonium breaks out at the head office. “Inform the president!” someone shouts.
“Quiet!” you yell. You have no more time. The plane’s speed is high, far too high for a landing approach.
In a few seconds it will have passed through your aircraft launch system. Then it will be too late for San Francisco.
You have been a judge at the military court for a very long time, but you have never had to decide such a serious case.
The accused had a passenger plane shot down more than a year ago, which was suspected of carrying out a serious terrorist attack on the Golden Gate Bridge.
The plane crashed into the sea, most of the occupants drowned.
But the survivors deny that their plane was hijacked by terrorists and incriminate the accused of killing their families.
According to witnesses, the Yemeni pilot suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and briefly lost consciousness, but that the co-pilot had eventually brought the situation under control.
The pilot and co-pilot can neither testify nor deny / confirm nor deny? these statements, as they both lost their lives.
You are faced with a dilemma.
The prosecutors want justice, the accused claims to have prevented a possible horrific terrorist attack.
Freedom.
You can’t believe how the world has changed. San Francisco has become a floating island where people only use inflatable boats to get around.
There are no cattle in Texas now, only algae farms.
You can now fill up with fuel made from algae instead of petrol and eat sushi on every corner. And the biggest surprise: the country’s president is a woman!
In prison, you thought long and hard. You always tried to make the right decision.
You refused to become a killer, but you were willing to kill for the greater good.
That it finally had to come to this is not because of you, but because of the cruelty of war and never-ending spirals of violence.
To this day, you don’t know whether you did the right thing back then. But you have come to terms with the past.
You have served 10 years in the army, lost 15 years of your life in prison – in your remaining 30 years you will fight for peace.
You sit on the beach and watch the silhouette of Aden shining in the light of the setting sun.
The temperatures have now risen so much that you can only leave the house in the evening, and it gets worse every year.
It is all the more astonishing how quickly the city was rebuilt after the war and how busy everyday life has become.
You did everything to help with the reconstruction, organised donations from all over the world and founded an NGO.
Anything to pay your debt, to be able to look the people here in the eye without having to avert your gaze.
Not far from you, children are playing. They are growing up in a new Yemen, without war, without drones.
A scuffed ball sails over. The smallest of the group comes running.
He greets you, smiles at you and you look into his dark brown eyes.
Do you think he knows you used to work for the US military? That you are responsible for the deaths of 388 of his countrymen? Whether he can read the guilty conscience on your face?
“Do you want to play, grandpa?” the boy suddenly asks expectantly. For the first time in a long time, a smile breaks out on your dry lips.
America. What a strange-sounding word. Will this soon be your new home? You press your head against the glass in anticipation, but so far all you can see is the blue of the ocean below you.
You are sitting in the front of the plane, next to your father and your brothers. First class is reserved for the injured and sick, and since your father only has one leg, you have the benefit of the wide seats.
At that moment, a sound shreds the air.
You’ve heard it so often in recent years that you know immediately what it is: the shot of a Kalashnikov.
One moment, a stewardess enters the aisle. Her face is whiter than paper. Behind her are two men with assault rifles.
As if in slow motion, they run past you, forcing the woman to open the door to the cockpit. When you realise what they are up to, you start screaming.
The people seem to be frozen. “Help!” you scream, “Do something! They’re going to kill us!”
Someone puts their hand over your mouth. “Please Ayasha!” your father pleads, “Shut up!”
It has become dangerous to go out to sea in an inflatable boat.
Unpredictable hurricanes are on the increase and rescue workers have enough to do pulling desperate refugees out of the water, trying to reach America from various sinking islands.
You still come here every year.
It is the place where the plane from Aden touched the water and disappeared into the sea forever. It is not your fault.
The inmates decided to do it themselves. In doing so, they prevented a terrible bloodbath, a second 9/11.
It was big in the press for a few weeks, now hardly anyone even knows the names of the 400 refugees from Yemen who sacrificed themselves for America.
Did you do the right thing then? Could you have saved them? How could it have come to this?
You think you know the answer, but no one in the army wants to hear it. The fact is that since the US stopped fighting wars for oil and power in the Middle East, terrorist attacks have dropped dramatically.
But you realise: all it takes is a rising oil price, a crazy president or a Chinese military base in the Middle East and everything starts all over again.
“Ayasha!” You wake up in a cold sweat. You feel your husband’s hand on your mouth, which is opening to scream.
“Please. The children are asleep,” he whispers. Sheepishly, you look sheepishly into his eyes.
It’s been 15 years since you fled Yemen with your family. You found your new home in the USA and started a family.
You tried to forget the war.
But it always attacks you when you are defenceless, when no one is there to help you: in the middle of the night in your dreams.
“Easy.”, your husband says, takes you in his arms, kisses you.
„It’s over. All is well.”
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