Opinion & Essay

A Different Kind of Plague

September 10, 2020The War Horse
Staff Sgt. Kendrix D. Graham and Sgt. Michael J. Black fold an American flag during the memorial service of retired Marine Col. Vincil W. Hazelbaker, at the Hawaiian Memorial Park Cemetery on March 24, 2017. Hazelbaker was a Marine aviator who served in the military for 34 years. During his service, he flew more than 680 combat missions and earned the Navy Cross for his extraordinary heroism during the Vietnam War. “If Dad stood here today, he would have saluted and said ‘well done,’” said Brad Hazelbaker, Wayne’s son. U.S. Marine Corps photo by Sgt. Brittney Vella

Staff Sgt. Kendrix D. Graham and Sgt. Michael J. Black fold an American flag during the memorial service of retired Marine Col. Vincil W. Hazelbaker, at the Hawaiian Memorial Park Cemetery on March 24, 2017. Hazelbaker was a Marine aviator who served in the military for 34 years. During his service, he flew more than 680 combat missions and earned the Navy Cross for his extraordinary heroism during the Vietnam War. “If Dad stood here today, he would have saluted and said ‘well done,’” said Brad Hazelbaker, Wayne’s son. U.S. Marine Corps photo by Sgt. Brittney Vella


By NATE ECKMAN, The War Horse


Last week, Kevin killed himself the same way that Billy did nearly two years ago: with a bullet in his head without a trace to why.


At the surface, both deaths are inexplicable. I imagine suicides always are, no matter the demographic. Though the fact both men were veterans seems to assuage most concerns. As if that’s just what veterans do, like the infamous 20-suicides-a-day—however accurate—isn’t a statistic of despair but a quota. And, according to the laws of nature, the veterans will meet this quota without enforcement. Because we’re disciplined and self-governing and we can meet and exceed any regimented expectation, except face the totality of life after service.


The “why” haunts me, because the inexplicability of their suicides makes me believe it wasn’t actually them in control. It wasn’t the thoughtful and introspective Billy, who though burdened by his ailing body had an unbreakable spirit; it wasn’t actually Kevin, who literally minutes before the act Facetimed a friend to share a laugh—like he did with anyone he knew. So, I believe that the “why” is a plague, as if not even they woke up those days knowing that it was their last days of life.


I wonder who the plague will strike next. The rest of my unit does too.


Billy referees an impromptu wrestle-mania match inside a hooch, while Kevin looks down at him from the top rack (center). Courtesy Nate Eckman

During our calls to check in and share details about wakes and funerals, we speculate. Jerry’s cocaine addiction makes him an obvious candidate. Mack is apparently homeless, living under whatever roof that he and his affiliates find abandoned. We figure that Mack will soon die, not from a bullet he puts in his head but from whatever kind of senseless violence erupts in a crack house, or on a run to supply the home, or maybe even at the home, when the cocktail of narcotics finally overloads his heart and it fails. I worry about Jared. On occasion he’ll post an image of himself on Instagram, and I see that his smile is withering. Jared is where most of us exist: in a dull kind of pain indicative of seemingly less severe illnesses. We’re drinking too heavily and talking too little. We’re hermits. Disgruntled and melancholic. It’s just a phase, we say. We’ll get over it, we promise. But it has been years since we all left service.


What are the early signs of the plague, I wonder, and is there an antidote?


We believe that cure is time. Time to adjust to the new realities of life. Time to get our lives in order. It’s just a matter of time, we tell ourselves. But it also seems that awareness of time amplifies the plague’s side effects. Time is the great tormentor. The variable that makes us believe that our situation is inescapable. I don’t believe that time is the antidote. It is the great accelerator. To an ill mind, time is perpetual; a never-ending barrage of torments. I wish time was something we could travel through, that it wasn’t something to endure but a thing that we could traverse.


The first place I’d take us is back to that day late in 2011 when we all raised our right hands, at the Military Entrance Processing commands nearest our hometowns. That day we were most full of hope, when we stood in Cleveland, and Dallas, and Louisville, and cities all over this country, delivering a promise to defend our nation from all enemies foreign and domestic, and when we promised ourselves a life worth remembering. Our only concern with time then was how many days until boot camp. We thought that number was counting down to the beginning of our lives.


The plague makes me question reality.


Marines of Kilo company, Eckman’s unit, traverse the mountains of Jordan during a deployment. Courtesy Nate Eckman

We’re supposed to have a brotherhood; all those years rucking and camping and on-patrol in those 13 countries the Corps took us to, vowing to be by each other’s side no matter what. But twice in two years men have taken their lives without a trail as to why. In both times, both men spoke with others from the unit the days and hours before their final shots. In both cases, both men warned none of us about their pending suicides. The brotherhood is supposed to isolate us from the taunts of depression, and self-mutilation, and harm. I thought that good families produce that kind of barrier to life’s hardships. Is ours perpetuating the hardships? Is our acclaimed “brotherhood” even real?


Is sanity just an illusion?


I think about that gun in my closet sometimes, and wonder if that’ll be the last thing I touch. I wonder because I believe in the plague, and that despite all the warmth and love surrounding veterans and awareness of suicide, no one seems to be able to answer “why?” Twice now, I’ve learned that there are no prerequisites for killing yourself besides 1) you have a pistol and 2) you’re an unexpected candidate.


Maybe we just never knew those men, and the guys we loved or liked or despised. The men we learned about under the stars, navigating terrain at night, and later in the hooch, under the red light of our glow sticks, were just illusions. Pop-up displays of the men the Corps told them to be and what insensitive men forced them to become. And, once they were out of the Corps, those pop-up men were too high-maintenance to maintain, too difficult to sustain, but they were so embarrassed with their true self that they’d rather suppress its existence than give it its day. But they tired. And the burden was too great. So when their true selves rose they did so in a fury, hating the body that suppressed them for so long that they destroyed it—in a last-ditch effort of liberation.


At this point, I’ll believe any story. Any explanation. Because the “why,” I’m convinced, is a plague, which convinces me that I won’t be one of them. As long as I avoid its grip.


Editors Note: This article first appeared on The War Horse, an award-winning nonprofit news organization educating the public on military service. Subscribe to their newsletter.



The War Horse
The War Horse

The War Horse is an award-winning nonprofit newsroom and the most trusted source for bulletproof reporting on the human impact of military service. Our team holds power to account, strengthens our democracy, and improves understanding of the true cost of military service.

More from Coffee or Die Magazine
Curtis LeMay
Curtis LeMay: The World War II General Who Firebombed Japan

Who exactly was Gen. Curtis LeMay? And how did he become the commander who razed more than 60 Japanese cities during World War II?

eric smith marine corps commandant nominee
Highly Decorated Marine Officer Nominated To Be Next Commandant

President Joe Biden has nominated a highly decorated Marine officer who has been involved in the transformation of the force to be the next Marine Corps commandant.

USS Arizona
Profile of a Ship: USS Arizona

When the USS Arizona sank, it took 1,177 crew members with it. Today it remains beneath the water as a memorial to all those who lost their lives at Pearl Harbor.

b1 bombers bosnia
US Bombers Fly Over Bosnia in Sign of Support Amid Continued Secessionist Threats

A pair of U.S. Air Force B-1B Lancer bombers flew low over Sarajevo and several other Bosnian cities...

SR-71 Blackbird
SR-71 Blackbird: The Spy Plane That Could Outrun Missiles

Lockheed Martin’s SR-71 Blackbird was a government secret for years. Now retired, a newer version plans to take its place.

medal of honor recipient remains returned
Missing 73 Years, Medal of Honor Recipient's Remains Return To Georgia

Soldiers of the 9th Infantry Regiment made a desperate retreat as North Korean troops closed in arou...

dear jack
Dear Jack: My Battalion Is Out of Control

In this installment of “Dear Jack,” Marine veteran and amateur life coach Jack Mandaville advises a lieutenant colonel on how to restore order in the lower ranks.

  • About Us
  • Privacy Policy
  • Careers
Contact Us
  • Request a Correction
  • Write for Us
  • General Inquiries
© 2023 Coffee or Die Magazine. All Rights Reserved