Bodies of War

A story about the lure and hell of war

The metallic hawk proceeded through the fluid sky. It was peaceful for a few moments while the pilot checked his bearings and changed direction through the soaring clouds which slowly transcended into darker, ash filled forms. The pilot knew he was entering the war zone as a team of metallic eagles shot past his side, he longed to join them: avid dreams of action. The sky in front of him turned to a violet, flash filled horizon. Gun fire stabbed and streamed through the clouds, burning hopes as the flammable birds were shot down into balls of fire raining from the skies. Dogfights and the risk of uncertainty appealed to him but he knew he had no say over his orders and the safety of his crew. His job was dropping off soldiers, who would partake in that excitement he desired.

In the back were the paratroopers, sardines in a tin, some nervously twitching anticipating the inevitable dive. Others were prepared to be their own personal supermen, falling through the air with a ground target in sight, a dropped dart yearning for a bull’s eye. The command came… Jump.

They dove out, one by one, gripped by the blinding air: gravity’s overwhelming force. For most of the paratroopers it was a drop from heaven and fall into hell, the calm shattered by a storm underneath: a storm of gunfire and deadly chaos. One of the paratroopers: an experienced atmosphere child, born to fall and fly. He was suspended in temporary bliss, complete freedom until the landing. He ached to stay in the air, but they had to deliver supplies and assist the ground assaults. They would back up the grunts, the ants below, and join them in probable death.

The floor became clear, blown apart from explosions, ants became men and rocks became vehicles. The team opened their chutes floating slowly into battle like balloons ready to pop. As a paratrooper below the atmosphere child burst into blood-shaded dust clouds he thought: ‘Am I next? A death in the air doing what I love. No pressure of backing up the land forces.’

He did not get his wish as he landed into the confusion, the depths of hell. Finger on the trigger he ran into the wilderness, no time to lose, finding a grunt that required immediate supplies.

The grunt: fully equipped and camouflaged, stealing an aspect of the chameleon, knew he was the back bone of the army. He was the body of war, devoted to action and expendable for his country. Holding his rifle close like a security blanket for the damned, he led his team through the active woods. He was the leader of the pack, like a lioness prowling, directing the group when to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

Dead carcasses scattered the land, his team ducking, dashing and crawling among cover, some even hiding behind their fallen comrades. He moved forward from their protected territory, dashing to the next tree, with other team members providing cover fire like subsequent thuds of thunder and striking shots of lightening. Adrenaline was his greatest ally as he dodged death with every step and delivered it to all who crossed his aim. He was required to be emotionless, a remorseless killing machine, no time for contemplation that may interfere with his orders.

He started to pull his team back as soldiers fell like lambs to the slaughter, the soldiers that were too far into the woods would not know of this retreat, a risk he was willing to take. As he edged back to their territory, where sniper support was provided, he caught a glimpse of a team member falling to the ground as his chest burst from scatter fire. ‘Was this a good day to die?’ There were no good days in this career, death had another advocate. The soldier gave up. He thought to himself as he witnessed the soldier’s eyes close. It was inevitable that one day he would receive the same treatment.

The enemy drew closer and locked their aim onto the grunt. He had spent enough time in the company of death, it was time for him to live it, ‘death becomes you in a place like this’ he thought as he closed his eyes and heard a gunshot.

A sniper had shot the enemy just in time from the territory’s bunker; the grunt would live to fight another day. The sniper was support, the defense and the trigger hand of God or perhaps the Devil. From the relative safety of his elevated position he could watch the fight and the enemy troops penetrate through the territory line, gunning them down with mild ease. Then she appeared in his scope… he hesitated.

His orders were: shoot to kill, a game of two sides that had no mediator. Black and white with no hope for multi colour, or even grey: that subtle mix of the two. He had been trained as a soldier: to protect his side to a point where reason and job just don’t coincide. Although he always kept doubt in his mind: this wasn’t why he joined, he joined to serve in justice not death.

This was a definite injustice as his moral influence caused him to veer away from the supposed target. His soul purpose was to take life away, but what life was he removing now? A young, innocent woman, maybe she had a family. He would never know, not in this arena of death, once again lambs to the slaughter with the crowd deeply enthralled.

As his conflicting emotions grew the situation became more aware to him: she was getting closer and had already passed the line into his territory. Their territory: the safe haven of killers. For all he saw it could be the line of purgatory, not just for all that had received the opposing end of his rifle, but for him: his soul, his future.

He needed to make a decision and with the anticipation of the action he put his eye back on the scope, his finger slipped onto the trigger, hovering, twitching in denial and pre-determined fact.

Yes, it was inevitable, as war seemed to be. He went for the kill. As he aimed at the young, fragile civilian she exposed a rifle of her own. This he was not expecting as she was no soldier: no combat indication like him. She fired: hitting him into submission, he felt no pain, just shock at what had occurred. With his last darkened blood-reeked breath he muttered: ‘Forgive me God’.