Soldiers Readapt to Civilian Life, Some Don't

Unlike any war the U.S. has waged, the urban, guerilla combat in Iraq is personal and challenges the soul’s endurance. Except for the Vietnam War, especially the later part, U.S. soldiers are faced with a more personal type of combat. An unidentifiable enemy walks around in public, indistinguishable from the civilians. Except for the Special Forces, U.S. soldiers are trained only for traditional warfare, not terrorism and insurgency.

Moving freely anywhere, civilian insurgents can detonate a suicide bomb, shredding humans indiscriminately. In March this year, the New York Times reported how, even as U.S. soldiers begin to leave Iraq, suicide bombings increase, killing more than 33 in a single day. The bloody scenes sear the spirit of anyone witnessing the carnage. 

Insurgent civilians seem like regular people one day, exchanging cigarettes with a soldier like Army Cpl. Jason Pautsch. The next day, the same friendly face can pull an AK47 and spray bullets into a Marine Unit where buddies fall with nightmarish wounds. Like a lightning bolt from nowhere, a roadside bomb can explode, taking life and limb.

Scenes of horror create the post traumatic stress syndrome that U.S. soldiers like Sgt. Stryker have to cope with when they return home after years of patrolling Iraqi neighborhoods filled with paranoia and constant fear for life.

A soldier develops personal relationships with his battle buddies or with friendly civilians--alive one day and torn apart the next.

One day an otherwise friendly civilian might appear out of nowhere working as a suicide bomber, forcing a well-intended Marine to make a split-second decision to shoot in self-defense. Mistakes happen in the strained, continuous, life-threatening situations. The extended missions exacerbate the stress. The Stop-Loss clause in a military service contract can hold a soldier in combat indefinitely.

When the soldier returns home to America after surviving by any and all means, including shielding himself with intensified paranoia and tight nerves, he can’t resolve the gap between his newly regained civilian lifestyle and the adrenaline still racing through his veins. Sometimes he cannot slow down the synaptic overload in his mind and soul. Readjusting to a whole new and alien world seems impossible, a world that used to be familiar, now turned into another planet. He loses his grip and slips into the darkness.

In 2008 suicide rates of U.S. soldiers from Iraq rose beyond the levels during the Vietnam War three decades ago.

In the novel, Mojave Winds, Kris Klug is caught in this tough transition between dangerous and extended missions and finding his way in regular American daily life. As a portrait of the human condition, the novel is best positioned to capture the internal struggle of soldiers, many bearing the burden of deep invisible wounds.