The Devil In The Field

Every inch counts.

Gusts of wind slashed at my open wounds, evoking cries of pain and grinding teeth. 

''..F**k.. F**k, F**k F**k---'' 

My eyes shot from one target to another. At least half a dozen. A glance backwards was uncalled for, I figured that I was alone. Nostrils tightend as if trying to keep the stench at bay, but it didn't do much. The sound of leather on stone caught my ears, sending me to the ground with a hasty leap. 

''..Who'der?!'' I muttered through blood and broken teeth, trying to sound both coherent and intimidating. Though I was likely  neither. A shell of a man, bloodied and injured, cowering in a stone bunker. The last man on the field, or so I believed. 

Using my trusty ebony binocolars I spotted six, or perhaps seven men when I looked forward, It was hard to tell through bloated and bloodied eyes. It was a stupid call. Not looking back. 

I was flanked, and about to die. ''..Pleasegod...I'mbegging ...God..'' 

A whisper. 

The power behind each word was minimal, every vowel uttered with the least amount of oxygen backing it up. But yet every word carried a blaze of light. It was not an enemy. 

''..There is no god here.'' 

With excruciating pain I turned my neck on it's hinges, supporting myself with his elbow to get a better view. I finally saw him. 

A kevlar helmet obscured his identity. Not a spec of blood covered his roughed up military uniform. 

He stood there like a statue. Looking down at me through his darkend visor. He palmed two hand grenades. One in each hand. His lips quivered, the only feature of his face I could see. 

Everything in this moment was enhanced. Made worse by the absurdity of it all.

It was why he whispered. 

Every smell a stench.

Every word a scream.

Every hesitation a terror. 

''...God is in our children, waiting for our return.'' 

He tightend the grip on his grenades, fingers coiling around them desperately, as if he was holding on to his heart, making sure it kept pumping. 

''...God is in our wives, yearning for our embrace.''

I decided to take another look through the binoculars, shutting out the rant. The enemies were getting closer.

''...God in our mothers, crying themselves to sleep.'' 

Their hunters were assertive on scaling the bunker. I had no more ammo to stop them, and it seemed neither did he.

''...But God stayed back home. He stayed with our wives, children and mothers. '' 

Something twisted at the corridors of my soul with his words. I thought about them. Waiting at home. My eyes burned with unshed tears as I finally nodded my head in silent acceptance. 

''...So don't pray to god. Not here. Not in this place. At this hour.'' 

The creeping, spine chilling sound of the rusty door wheels turning nearly froze my blood.

'''...Only the Devil exists in the field.''

 He unhooked both of the explosive spheres, inviting obscurity and leaping into the aybss.  

They stormed into the bunker, screaming, sprinting towards death, towards fire, towards madness.

 But he, he ran towards the door, gaining as much distance as he could, denying me from the jaws of oblivion. At the cost of his own life. He carried the grenades, they detonated when he was right at the door, a safe distance away from me. Drowning all the enemy soldiers with him in a bath of flames and sharpnels. 

The sound came first, a terrible thunder that overwhelmed everything else. The shock pummeled my body, tossing me like a ragdoll, shattering whatever was left to shatter. Then came the whistle, stabbing through my ears. I yearned for deafness. 

The veil of darkness cleared, and the smoke diluted. My chest rose with amazement, lungs took in all the oxygen they could, and the heart pumped as if doing so for the first time.

Disraught and baffled, I crawled towards the burnt carcass. It was burnt to a crisp, dark and mauled by the explosive hand of death. The Kevlar helmet protected the head, kept it mostly intact. 

With shaking hands I undid the bronze clasps, with all of my remaining strength,

I pulled it away.

He was practically a kid! No older then eighteen. Emerald eyes wide open, staring at my soul, devoid of emotion and life. 

''..You were wrong...'' I wept through bile and blood. 

''..God was in your heart, and that place was out of the devil's reach.'' 

Author's Note

About not one particular story, and yet about them all.

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

This is a beautiful, powerful, and gripping piece. The tiny parts that can be combed for minor grammar errors are there, yes, but inconsequential in the face of such a vivid story, easy to go back and fix. I know you have said before you know you should go back and edit, and yes, you should, only because the quality of your stories is so good, they should shine like polished diamonds.

[LastMonth]

Sorry for taking long to comment.
A bit busy lately.

Thank you for your review Goode, I'd love it if you could point out some errors you've noticed. I'd like to fix it today :)

[Shannon]

A declaration of faith clearly rendered, not in its beauty necessarily, but in its power.
Others have said much about the writing that I agree with. But the broken prayer, that becomes a condemnation of sorts, that will stay with me a long time.

[LastMonth]

Thank you for stopping by S. Mi.
I'm glad that you found something to hold on to in the story I wrote.

[AliciaB]

Well. I have to say, I am a bit at a loss as to how to start this review. I guess I'll start with this: I am highly impressed. This is overall very well-written, and you certainly got me with the twist at the end. First of all, your descriptions are wonderfully and painfully vivid: "Gusts of wind slashed at my open wounds"... "A shell of a man"... "bloated and bloodied eyes"... "Something twisted at the corridors of my souls with his words"... "dark and mauled by the explosive hand of death"... and many more. You drag the reader directly into the blood, stench, grit, and horror of this experience. The tiny paragraph that begins with "It was why he whispered" is particularly powerful. The language throughout this story is highly dramatic, but you have presented it in a way that does not seem foolish or overdone. I believe every word. The speech of the young soldier with the grenades is gut-wrenching, and I like the way that you bolded his lines. Finally, the conclusion of this story is moving and sheds a somewhat uplifting light on a tale full of despair, agony, and death. The final line resonated with me in ways I find myself unable to fully express as I am writing this review. Overall, this is an incredibly powerful story, horrible in the violence it describes and beautiful in its theme of self-sacrifice. I love this. Excellent, excellent work.

[LastMonth]

Well. I'm a bit at a loss to how to react!
Thank you for the humbling review.
I'm not really sure what to say.
This is the type of reaction you secretly desire, but you're not really sure what to say once it happens.

I appreciate your review(s) greatly. I'm also elated that the last line resonated with you, I found myself staring at it for a few minutes myself, altering it several times before I finally got what I wanted.

There's a few mistakes that got past my eyes, and the eyes of my trusted editor. (She's terrific.) I fixed them right now, removing the bumps.

[barleygirl]

I usually avoid stories and films about war/fighting . . . but in this case, your story is very well-told & the gory-ness is only used as needed, not excessively. This story has a circular completeness that I really crave in a short story . . . you're taking us on a journey with your words & then we end up where we started, after living thru a few lessons. Your words of wisdom are a nice balance between finding meaning in the most bleak situations of life and just simply touching us with the power of the story narrative itself, not just the lessons. There are a few bumps in your construction, but the power of your storytelling makes it barely noticeable.

The most powerful part of the lesson -- the way you created these various moments of clarity with bold quotes: "God is in . . . " -- then looping it back together with the sobering idea that God is only to be found back home, but not in this place of war, where the devil prevails. I actually don't agree with this, but the way you crafted it into an allegory is so deep & meaningful, I'm just in awe of this message.

[LastMonth]

Thank you for the review Barley.
You nailed it for the most part, in your take on what the story tries to convey.
But to me the most important part is the last one,

Yes, The Devil may appear to have the upper hand at some points.
But God is always with us, in our heart. No matter how hopeless the situation, how absurd and radical things become, faith is our most powerful and potent ally. Even if it's not a god you believe in, but just hope for something.

[barleygirl]

I didn't mean that I don't believe in God. I just meant that I believe God is to be found especially in the worst situations . . . these are the times when He has bent my will into his liking & made me a better person (((HUGS)))

[David H Lapham]

Powerful. Unanswered questions in the description of the bunker further add to the tension of the moment. Missing I thought was the sense of wonderment the narrator must have felt in the face of sacrifice and the sheer fact that he was still alive. Not sure, though. Maybe more is less in this case. No matter, enjoyed reading.

[LastMonth]

Thank you kindly for the review.
You make a good point,
But I believe that in those kind of situations, where death is in abundence, the first thought would go to the man who saved your life, rather then your own existance. Especially considering you could die in two minutes regardless.

I really appreciate your review, friend. Thank you for stopping by.