Perspective on Safe Spaces

It was merely 10 years ago. I was 19. A young, fit, and ballsy United States Marine. I was white. I was proud. I felt invincible. It was my first deployment. In Africa. 

Then I got captured.

My life instantly turned into a living hel. I was not prepared for it. None of my training had prepared me for this. For weeks, I was subjected to torture. Actual torture. Beatings. Rapes. Electroshocks. Nails. Sleep deprivation. You name it. I spent most of my time hung by my (broken) arms. I watched other men being butchered alive in front of me, hung like cattle in a slaughterhouse. Or restrained on a butcher table. Invariably, my captors would dance before the killings, playing loud metal. I was distressed. Majority of you probably have no concept of how distressed I was. I knew I would die and I actually wanted it to happen as soon as possible to end the anguish of the horrible death I would have to go through, or simply to end the torture and suffering. 

Then I got rescued. I don’t have a full recollection of all the details as I was in pretty bad shape by then. I just remember blonde giants, and blue eyes. Also, how good they smelled. For a moment, I recall thinking I may have been in Valhalla. I also got to realize that I was now safe… Or so did I think. For the next several days, I was carried by one such giants, through firefights, jungles, more firefights, hand to hand combat (odd experience to be tied up on the back of a dude engaging a group of enemies by hands). I was in pain, I had open wounds, I had a fever, I could hardly move. I was in advanced stages of delirium. I still recall wondering when I would finally be safe. The giant protected me though against everything and everyone. Bulldozing through enemies and everything. Never leaving my side. Yet, I still wasn’t safe. I was still in a war zone, on the verge of death, and pursued by a shit load of savages.

Once we got to a plane, I thought I, and my giant, my semi-god, my hero, were finally safe. But we weren’t. We got shot at. Some guys also referred to plane taking off in a very steep climb to avoid being shot down. After we took off, I thought, finally, we are all safe. But then, right before I passed out, I saw a bunch of guys attending to my giant. He had been severely wounded (which hadn’t prevented him from taking care of me), and he had collapsed. He was not much older than me. I remember blood on his golden beard, coming from his mouth. I realized, that, after all, we weren’t safe. I passed out. During a brief moment of consciousness, I heard another guy say we had cleared whatever shit hole’s airspace. I felt good. A little. Thinking that maybe my giant and I were safe. But we were very far from a medical facility. So we weren’t safe. 

A few hours later, hours that went by like minutes, I was watching trees and snow in the plane window, getting closer. We were on final approach somewhere. Somewhere with snow. So it ought to be somewhere safe. But I still didn’t feel safe. Then, I felt and heard that distinct noise of tires hitting a runway on landing… Followed by a brief announcement welcoming us to Norway, and a lot of cheering. For the first time in my adult life, I cried. I was finally safe, and I really had hopes that my giant was safe too.

After that, everything went very fast. Military and medical personal took (amazing) care of me, and healed me. I was then returned to my country, without ever hearing about my giant again, despite my efforts and inquiries. Without even knowing if he was finally safe and if he had survived. It tormented me for a decade. Every night, I would wonder what had happened to him. And if he had survived. I didn’t leave the military. If anything, this experience had made me stronger. So I went Raider instead, hoping to be able to do for other men what the giant had done for me. Which went well beyond rescuing me and saving my life. Making me experience a connection with another bro like I never had before. But I always wondered, every day, every night, if my giant had finally reached safety alive. It ate me alive from the inside out. 

It also frequently made me reflect, with great disgust, on the concept of safety, and how my perception of personal safety and security differed, to an unfathomable extent, from that of the current generation, requiring shielding from… opinions they don’t agree with. A luxury they only enjoy because of men like my giant.

Clearly, an entire generation that has lost all concepts of what actual safety and security mean…

Ending the story on a good note: With the direction our military has taken, turning into a safe space for vaginas of many genders, I finally decided my time was up, and sought to go private. I looked for specific Nordics while on deployment, as I knew it was the way to the Jomsvikings. I also secretly hoped I could run across a Nordic one day who could tell me what had become of my giant. I was in some stinky shit hole in the sand box, when I got a whiff of a scent I could never forget. My heart raced like a teenage high school girl meeting her first crush. Among the group of giants, one turned around. It was my giant. How could I ever forget those eyes, and face, that looked over me for several days, and who saved me from a horrible death.

Well, for the second time in my adult life, I cried again. I also run to him to hug him. Probably like a fag. But I didn’t care. I now lead a unit privately, under his command, and I could never be more proud to serve alongside such a man. And yeah, I love the giant and always will for the rest of my life. 

* Some details may have been modified for OPSEC.