While lying flat in the dirt, Mark worked on her leg. He knew she may lose the leg, but she would live if they got help to her fast enough. She would live and be able to have children if she wanted to. Mark could only think of Shelly as he worked. This soldier deserved to live and experience what he and Shelly were going to experience soon – new life.
“You’re going to be OK!” he yelled at her again. Mark’s helmet suddenly flew in the air. When he looked up, something struck his head. Everything went black. His body slumped over the wounded soldier, as if, even though unconscious, he protected his comrade.
Mark woke in a helicopter. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his head forced him to lay back.
“Easy, Mark.” a fellow medic said. “You are one lucky man. The bullet bounced off that thick skull of yours. A half inch to the left, and you’d be in a bag now.”
“The girl?” Mark turned his head to see if she was with them, but the pain in his head made him nauseous. ”Is she OK?”
“She’s OK, buddy. Thanks to you. You were great out there. You saved her life.”
Within a week, Mark was back on the front lines saving the injured. He braved his own life many times on the battlefield to give life to his comrades. “He has no fear.” one member of his unit said to another. “If I’m wounded in battle, I sure hope Mark is close by.”
A month later, a roadside bomb took Mark’s life. A man who believed in his flag, died for it.
When his commander learned of Mark’s death, he slumped back in his chair and reread a message he’d received that morning. He had looked forward to telling Mark that his wife had given birth that morning to a seven pound, eight ounce baby girl.
Shelly sat in the front row between her parents and Mark’s. In her arms was the newborn. She’d named her Marsha in memory of her father. In front of them was Mark’s flag-draped coffin – the flag he cherished.
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