Sit Down and Relax Chapter 1

I dream of a reality far away from this place.

Unobsessed by war, power, or fashion,

Driven by an infernal passion,

for

=Equality,=

Intelligent theology,

Something that makes sense for all,

and slaves of none.

Gone is the idea of all for one.

Incited without fundamental revolution,

A new human thought,

An evolution!

A world awoken to this linear fallacy of thought,

Expelled into a realm of peace.

Where prestige is earned,

not bought.

Continuously I rise to the painful realization,

That when on the verge of change for this civilization,

Our thoughts are directed, rearranged by deceitful invention.

Revenge to Avenge,

Slaughter quells the Laughter,

An induced state of complacency for all guilty benefactors.

Hope holds its grip as I stand on this chess board of kings.

Maybe, one day the world won't care SO much about things.

Chapter 1

Suicide. Standing there in the 110 degree heat, the cold steel of my M9 barrel warming against the roof of my dry mouth. I'd already lost two guys that month; taken orders I knew to be in a risky locale. Feeling ignorantly secure I had written a mission plan similar to a myriad of others, but this situation was different. The streets of this patrol were war-torn and hot, I knew that, but my men were tired; that, I overlooked.

"I've got a badass job lined up when I get home, Sir", "You got any plans after this bullshit?" asked Blake. Blake Woods was a strong, intelligent soldier. Dark skinned and bright eyed, pulling his second deployment sincerely one of my Sergeants I looked up to. Although a year or two younger than myself, he was well versed in life and a constant source of healthy advice. "Hopefully," I said. "I'm getting married to this sexy little Southern girl- if she'll still have me; I'll probably head back to school too, you?" "Sounds like you like prison, Sir!" he joked. "Actually, I've got a job lined up in Cali heading up security for a film studio near Hollywood- super f****n' chill job startin off about double what I make here, Sir." Sgt Blake knew where his life was going and what he wanted to do. I envied that. I was told to lead him, yet I had decided to follow a crowd of college professors. One of many contradictory things I learned about leadership, was that it usually began with following. "Sounds like you've got it made man; Cali girls, bank-roll, easy job." Woods cheered up a little reliving comforting memories during trying times."I can't wait for those waves,” he said.

“I grew up spending my summers in Cali, had me a fine girl from Roseville, but you know how that goes, Sir." I laughed, "Yea, I try and stick to the Southern girls myself; something about a girl in boots." As I glanced at him the reflection from his Oakley sunglasses hid his tired, brutally green eyes, but revealed a muzzle flash from a nearby window.

"CONTACT LEFT!" We cut down a road, dangerously far from the main convoy. Taken a wrong turn due to nearly falling asleep from the chaotic monotony. Rolled up right into a damn ambush. The first shots hit the plating in our doors, a loud chaos disrupting that temporary entropy. My .50cal gunner, a self-proclaimed native Texan Spc Roberts, instinctively returned fire. Pop, pop, pop! Steel rain pouring from his barrel in the direction of a civilian’s house, tearing holes in the stone and hopefully some flesh. F**k, I had let myself get distracted and we had rolled up into a choke point; this wasn't part of the plan. React to contact; brace yourself. There wasn't really an order to give. We had a standard operating procedure based upon direction of contact and my men knew what to do. Preparation seemed like everything as a young Lieutenant. Foolishly, I had prepared myself into a false sense of comfort, putting my men into a gratuitous hail of enemy rounds.

I woke up in a bloodstained Humvee. Burns across my arms, precariously close to being crushed between the dirt road and vehicle, in an unrealistic daze of confusion. My 19 year old gunner seemingly unconscious behind me. Roberts had taken the blow directly- he wasn't alive. Sgt. Woods had fallen against me, his weight crushing my already labored breathing. My mind raced. --Survive- you need to get them to a medic.-- With bullets still raging like arguing boys, and landing nearby I shouted, "Wake up!", "WAKE THE F**K UP!" Nothing; only distant communication from soldiers viciously closing in on the ambush. Pushing Woods to the side, I climbed towards the driver side window. I peered through the shattered ballistic glass, desperate to personally kill that poor son-of-a b***h that set that IED. Before I could pry myself free the shooting had ceased, followed by an inhuman voice on my radio requesting a status report. Looking back I'd always imagined that I would have panicked. Combat rarely struck panic up, but I could never imagine that a crippling explosion wouldn't do the trick. I noticed Sgt. Woods start to cough. I coldly gave the report- I've got one dead and Woods needs a medic. My voice was angry, resentful, wrathful, yet unwaveringly calm.

Author's Note

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