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My Life in the Shadows: A Soldier’s Story from the Edge of War

October 26, 1979. The middle of the night. A sharp knock rattled my bunk — no alarm, no warning, just the cold urgency of war. Our squad leaders and platoon sergeant were barking orders. Something had happened. Something big.

President Park Chung-hee of South Korea was dead. Assassinated by none other than Kim Jae-gyu — the director of the KCIA — in a brazen move to ignite a military coup. The country was unraveling before dawn. I was 19 years old. Just a Philly kid with more experience in street brawls than global conflict. That changed overnight.

We scrambled into formation. A deuce-and-a-half truck rolled in, loaded with ammo, rifles, and pistols. Gear was thrown at us like we were heading into battle — because we were. Our mission: hold the line. Keep the chaos of the South Korean military from spilling over into the American compound. And if that meant using lethal force… so be it.

The sirens started before sunrise. Then came the gunfire — distant at first, then closer. Kim Jae-gyu had been arrested, but his loyalists weren’t giving up. One truck — loaded with rebel troops — plowed straight through the fence between our compounds. Suddenly, the night lit up with muzzle flashes. South Korean soldiers were shooting each other right outside our wire.

Bullets hissed past my helmet. That high-pitched snap — it’s a sound you never forget. I remember thinking: This is real. This is war. My wife and infant son were back in the States. And all I could think about was surviving long enough to see them again.

Then they came for the fence. South Korean soldiers tried to scale it, to breach our side. Our orders were chillingly clear: stop them at all costs.

I pulled the trigger.

A soldier dropped. Crumpled. One second clawing for the top of the fence — the next, gone. That image never leaves me. It’s tattooed on my soul. The first time I ever took a life. The first of many firefights in what would become a career in the shadows.

That night in Korea was only the beginning.

From the jungles of Panama to the sands of Iraq… from covert operations to counterterrorism and crisis response… I served on missions most people will never hear about. I walked through the ruins of Oklahoma City after the bombing. Watched nations fall and rise again. I witnessed the real aftermath of Afghanistan — not the version on the news.

Every deployment came at a cost: time away from family, lost friends, and the weight of decisions that live with you long after the gunfire stops.

There’s grief, yes. But also purpose. Honor. The belief that freedom isn’t free — and that someone has to stand in the breach.

If even one life was saved because I pulled that trigger… if my service helped make this country safer for my children and grandchildren… then it was worth every scar.

“We sleep peacefully in our beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on our behalf.” – George Orwell

I was one of those men.

And this is my story.