What I Do

This is something that I wrote last year. It's just a little story about a soldier and the difficulties that he faces as he fights for his country.

     I know nothing but the sound of gunfire and the cries of my fellow soldiers. I’ve lost count of the days and nights that I’ve been on the Western Front. I don’t even know the year anymore. But it doesn’t matter, does it? All that matters now is survival, and that of my brothers. 

     We are all brothers now. We have been brought together by the common conditions here in this wasteland. Full of rats, mud, shells, and the sound of gunfire, this truly is Hell. 

     The history books will say that we are fighting in trenches, but a more accurate term would be “black hole.” These holes in the ground absorb everything that comes near. They sick in young men, and even boys posing as men, boys like me. They take hours, days, and weeks away from my life, and they take entire lives of other men. When it’s raining, they even try to rob me of my boots. They absorb my thoughts and my spirit, as well as my morale. When I first got here, the trenches looked like a brand new adventure. Now I know them for what they really are- thieves taking everything I have.

     The media will say we are fighting for our families and friends, but I can hardly believe that. I’m fighting for the whole country, and everyone in it. I’m fighting for the bullies that pushed me around on the playground when I was little. I’m fighting for the criminals in jail and the ones running loose. I’m fighting for the man that kicked us out of our home when we were little. I’m fighting for everyone in my country, and I’m proud of that. It would be selfish of me to only fight for the ones I love. The others deserve a chance at being free too, and if I don’t do it, then who will? I was always afraid of growing up to be nothing, but this is more than I could wish for. Saving the country? It doesn’t get much better than that.

    My parents and teachers said fighting was bad, back when I was little. They said violence is never the answer. So why, in my last months of school, were they encouraging me to join the military?? After pounding the idea of fighting out of my head, how do they expect to be able to pound it back into it? It seems like a waste of time to me. Since I’ve been here, I’ve learned not to waste time. Wasting time means losing lives.

     The generals say that this gear they give us will protect us. But will it really? I’ve been here for months, and I’ve only used my gun. All this other equipment seems useless to me. A liability. Extra material for the barbed wire to grab. More weight to carry around, and more supplies for the enemy if they get to out dead bodies first. But what do I know? I’m just a private. The people in charge tell me I need it, so I need it.

     The recruiters said we’d be proud of everything we do, but I’m not. Sure, I’m proud of being someone, proud of protecting my family and my country. But I’m not proud of what I do to protect them. The endless screams, blood, and wounds? I help cause them. The dead bodies face down in the trenches, their blood mixing with the mud? I add more to the piles every day. 

     My friends and I agreed that this would be an adventure, but it’s a nightmare. But do I regret any of it? Not for one second. The reward is worth the cost. Raising my family in a free country? I’d do anything to keep that dream alive. 

     I am a soldier, and this is what I do.