Food Fight: Battle at Christmas Ridge

As the Holiday war drags on, I find myself back on the same ship that deployed the first wave of brave souls at the battle of Turkey Hill. Just before they stormed the beaches to defend the hill from the onslaught of dietary enemies, I meet a veteran named Joe, who seemed to embody everything the fight represents to the millions of people who are affected by it's brutal advancement.
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As he left the transport boat in the early hours of that morning, I wondered if I would ever see him again. Would he get lost to the allure of high calorie foods and overeating that he had engaged in so many times in the past before he reenlisted? In the brief conversation we had, he touched me with his somber outlook on the battle and his dedication to the cause. His past experiences with the Holidays had left him scared and broken. I couldn't help but wonder...no...worry, that he might fall into enemy hands once again.

The clock struck midnight as the ship buoyed up in silence on the black waters several miles off shore. It was now weeks later and the eve of the next great battle in the war of the Holiday Season. At dawn this tight knit family of sizable men and women would take on an intense and craggy stretch of rocks called Christmas Ridge. This would be the next place these brave men and women would have to fight for a healthier way of life in the face of an uncaring enemy.

I strolled through the ship, speaking with soldiers and getting more stories to send back to my readers at home, all the while hoping to see Joe again. I looked around for him in every face I approached, but no luck. I saw several soldiers that were at the previous holiday engagement, but no Joe. I was beginning to think he didn't make it back from the Thanksgiving turmoil.

As I made my way through the ships recreation room, I saw troops in various states of recovery from what they had suffered through in the previous battles challenges. Some where on treadmills running off the extra pounds they had managed to pack on in the thick of things, while others lifted weights and toned up for the next onslaught.

In the distance I saw a soldier gasping for breath as the treadmill he was on came to a stop. He sat on a bench, hunched over and heaving, the sweat dripped from his forehead spilling on the rubber mat below his feet. As I looked closer I could see a familiar profile of the man who had left an indelible impression on me in the early morning hours so many weeks ago. It was Joe.

He was putting his boots on, getting ready to climb into the transport craft that would take him to the next great food fight. He had just finished an intense training session to ready himself for the hostilities that would be lobbed at him in the coming days. Cautiously I approached his intimidating frame making sure not to startle him. There was no telling what kind of shell shock he may have suffered at the hands of the enemy.

"Hey Joe," I said in a low tone, hoping he would remember me. Still panting from the exertion on the treadmill, he slowly lifted his head and looked my way. A wry smile began to emerge on his face. "Hey kid! Good to see you again." He remembered who I was! "I thought you would have gone home to be with your family." "No sir," I said, trying to hold back the litany of questions I had for him to answer.

All of the sudden the ship came to life as the brave brothers and sisters began to assemble on deck to ready for their call into service. Joe wiped the sweat from his face, and finished strapping on his boots. He leaped into action and motioned for me to follow as we made our way to join the other troops already in ranks. On the way I got up the nerve to ask him the one question that had haunted me for what seemed an eternity."Joe...what happened?"

As we walked and talked he told the story of that day and the horror that he and his comrades faced on that god forsaken hill. The fight was intense and they were surrounded from all sides. It seemed the holiday's had the upper hand for the better part of the day. "It wasn't looking too good for a while," he recounted.

"The enemy was relentless. They used every trick in the book to shove those empty calories down our throats. From grandmother guilt to the peer pressure of indulging in the ingest fest. They pulled no punches." We continued to walk to the rally point on deck, our pace becoming more brisk as the alarms rang in the final minutes before launch. We would have to finish this interview on the transport boat.

The troops were divided into smaller groups and assigned to the small crafts that would carry them to their destiny. This felt all to familiar. I filed in behind Joe like a little brother tagging along in worship of his older, wiser sibling. The mission leader grabbed the back of my life jacket and yanked me out of the boat. "No civilians!" he barked. I flashed my press pass at him but it was no use. Joe turned to see where I was and caught the eye of the Major. He looked at him then at me and with one telepathic thought convinced him to let me aboard. I hurried myself on before the Major changed his mind.

The doors closed and at the urging of the commander the boats launched into the murky water. With the moonlight overhead, we once again skipped toward land and head long into the uncertainty of what was to come. Joe and I hunkered into the corner of the vessel and he continued with his story, having to raise his voice over the mewl of the massive engines that strained to cut through the rough waters.

"At one point I was totally cut-off from my support system. They had managed to down all the communication lines and I was in the s%$#t for sure. I tried to find a safe place to hide, but it was no use. They came at me from all sides. I managed to dodge the rounds of guilt with an allergy excuse I learned about in basic training. I wish I could have used that the whole day but there was no way they were gonna accept I was allergic to everything. They kept a close watch on me making sure my plate stayed full. The hardest part was making them think I was eating multiple portions without actually going over my allotted calories." "How did you get out of it?" I pried intensely waiting for the answer. He began to smile and with a low chuckle let me in on the secret of his successful deception. "Let's just say the family dog happily took one for the team!" We both roared with laughter as the engines cut out and our rag tag congregation stealthily slowed into position.

An uneasy silence came over the brave ones as they lay in wait to meet the Christmas holiday full on. We all knew the ridge would be a brutal proving ground and 10 times more calorically treacherous than Turkey Hill. Not only would different culinary weapons be employed, mostly with large canons of fudge and divinity, as well as thick vats of Egg Nog. No, those certainly were not the only things unique to this fight. Financial distress and painful memories of holidays past would certainly find their way to the surface as well.

Joe's face became sullen in the silence and once again, as if in a moment of confession, he told me of his fears. "I lost my mother around the holidays. Christmases with my mother were some of the happiest days of my life. When I lost her all those years ago, that was when I began to slowly give in to the enemy that waits for me on that ridge." He cleared the lump from his throat and slyly wiped the tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes.

There would be one more battle just a few days after this one, a battle that would end the war and render the holiday season inert. The battle of New Year beach would once again set forth a whole new set of challenges mostly of the alcoholic sort. I knew that the chances of me seeing him before that fight would be slim to none.

I started to ask him one last question as the gates dropped and they surged from the boat into the chilly waters. "How will I find you again?" I plied as he lunged forward with his gear at the ready. He stopped, turned, and with the same wry smile on his face said,"Don't worry kid, if I make it through to the end you'll know how to find me. Just make sure you tell our stories to those souls out there being oppressed by the enemy we will crusade against today. Let them know there is hope and that they are not alone. Inspire them to fight the good fight."

With that he turned and hurried to join the others facing the same uncertain fate. The boat once again returned to the ship and I again found my self saying a silent pray for the man that helped me see the very real struggle that so many people face this time of year. I wasn't sure that I would ever see him again, but I made a promise to myself, that I would tell their stories and further that crusade he so rightly believed in.

As we sped towards the waiting ship, I stared at the shore and watched the distance between me and my hero grow wider. As I wiped the tears that had collected in the corners of MY eyes, in a very low and Joe like manner I muttered, "Happy holiday's my friend. Rage on and fight the good fight."