Purpose The plane roared as it hit the tarmac of Dulles International Airport, and Azar groaned back to life, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he looked out the window to see the amber lights of Washington D.C just before the break of dawn. Azar heard a slight ring, and looked up to see the seatbelt light had been turned off. As the plane finished its taxi into the terminal, Azar sorted through his things and prepared to disembark. He wasn’t the only one returning to America from Vietnam. Roughly half the large commercial plane, flying from Japan, to Seattle, then finally to the nation’s capital, was occupied by similar, groggy soldiers facing, with various degrees of excitement, the beginning of postwar life. A friendly enough, yet …show more content…
Marching out of the terminal, Azar noticed how quiet it was. There were no birds, no wind, no rustling in the trees. The gunfire was gone, but so was the laughter, the bond formed with his platoon. They’d all gone their separate ways at the airport in Japan. The ones who were still alive, at least. Azar, for the first time in a while, felt lonely. Azar lugged his suitcase into the terminal. There, a very large man instructed the men that they were to board buses and report to the local Veteran’s Affairs office. Three large buses pulled up outside the terminal. Azar boarded the second one. It was an old Greyhound bus, dark and rather smelly. The bus’ engine slowly turned over, sputtering loudly and gasping for life. As the old Greyhound slowly pulled away from the terminal, Azar spotted a small stray dog, sleeping under the shadow of a bench just outside the airport doors. Suddenly, Azar found himself in …show more content…
“Norman’s always happy. He can thank all those tranquilizers for that. I doubt he’ll even notice the dog is gone, at least for a little while.” Norman arched an eyebrow. “Gone? What are you doing with the thing?” Azar set the puppy down. It whimpered a little, then sat down. Azar then slide his pack off of his shoulders and pulled out a claymore. Norman paused, in disbelief, and muttered, “You’re kidding.” “Nope,” Azar shot back, “I’m completely serious.” “Azar, you can’t do that.” “Well why not? Way I see it, I’m doing the dog a service. It doesn’t need this.” “For starters, you’re wasting a perfectly good claymore, and second, it’s cruel.” “How’s it cruel? Cruel is stealing a dog and marching around in the heat all day. And as for the claymore, who cares? It’s not like we aren’t going to get more.” Norman rolled his eyes. Azar was notoriously stubborn, probably more than anyone in the whole platoon. Norman turned and walked away, listening to the birds. Azar crouched down and began to tape the puppy to the claymore. “Alright little man, you ready?” he whispered, scratching the dog’s ear. It yipped. Azar set the claymore in the dirt, walked away, and pulled the trigger.