Ravages of War

He heard it and knew that he was its target. He saw where it came from, and knew that there was no chance he could avoid it. He felt the impact in his chest, and fell.

“Okay, men. Git yourselves out at 0400 hours.”
“Yes, sir!” the men of squad A called. As the group marched off to the barracks, Cmdr. Reynolds called out, “We have a long day ahead of us, so get you sleep while you can.”
“Yes sir,” the squad called out, and the spread out into the night. Two of the troops walked together back to the bunk. “So,” the first asked, “what was in that letter you got?”
“Um… nothing, Jake. Nothing.”
“If you say so.” They both walked on in silence.

Cay sat on the edge of his bunk reading the letter. Crying, he dropped it onto the floor.

He lay in the street hearing the yelling. Someone was calling his name. He couldn’t tell who, but could feel the emotion in the yell.
The burn in his chest began to spread. He knew he was dying; there was no doubt of that. He was only afraid of his squadmates, whether they had survived the blast that had shredded his body.

“Move out!” Cmdr. Reynolds yelled, as the men headed out from the base into the streets of the city. Although the schedule was light, with only a power plant inspection on the route, Jay still was nervous. Sweat dripped off of his brow as he watched the buildings around the convoy, looking for any unwelcome surprises.
The sound of the truck on the dirt road dominated the area, as merchants raced to get off of the streets. People looked up at him, some with joy, some with fear, and some with anger. Jay could understand each of these emotions. Personally, he really didn’t want to be here either. It’s not the bad food, or the lack of showers. It was the separation.
The distance.
The loss.
Things were going on back home. He hated not being there; his teeth clenched at the thought of him not being able to help. Instead, he was here, riding in a bumpy truck through unfriendly terrain.
Here, where friends could die at any moment, and your own life didn’t matter in the long run.
Where deeds are blown away with the shifting sands.
Where nothing matters.

Something flashed in the rooftops above. A quick glimpse was all that was given, but the squad quickly stiffened. They grip on the rifles stiffened as they prepared for anything.
And then “anything” hit.
One rocket propelled grenade can do much more damage than is ever seen. Sure, TV shows buildings destroyed by car bombs and the like, but an RPG can do just as much. Although they leave smoke trails that point out its origin, nobody is looking anyway, as they try to survive anything that is sent their way. As the debris, concrete, shrapnel and body parts rain down, the animal instincts take over and chaos sets in.
That is what training in the military is meant to stop. When order is destroyed, when chaos abounds, it is the job of the military to restore peace and order into the affected area. However, even the rigors of military indoctrination can never truly prepare for the ravages of war.
The odds are that when you’ve just been attacked by a terrorist RPG, military protocol is not the first thing you’re going to think of.
“What was that?!” Cmdr. Reynolds yelled.
“RPG! Don’t know where it came from!” someone yelled.
“On the roof!” Cay yelled as another grenade shot off at them. As the projectile whined through the air, the squad scattered.

He could feel the blood streaming down his face as the shouts grew louder. He tried to get up, but realized that he had no arm to lean on. He tried to stand up, but then realized that he had no legs. “No,” he thought to himself. “No….”

The blast hit the truck head-on. Debris and Shrapnel flew everywhere, hitting trooper and civilian alike. The few troopers who were out of the truck began firing back; one connected and the shrouded person fell over the edge of the building. Cay and Jake ran over to the terrorist and yanked the RPG launcher away from his clutching corpse. Cmdr. Reynolds ran over. “What’s happening here!?”
“Sir!” Jake said, “We’ve greased the assault. RPG only. What are your orders?”
“Get over and check on those civilians back there. We gotta get them outta here!”
“Yes, sir!” they yelled. Running back to the truck, Cay said, “So, quite a first week, huh?”
“Cut the chatter. Get over to those civilians. Things look pretty nasty.”
“Yes, sir.” Cay walked over to the natives where the translator was conversing with them.
“They are blaming you for this attack! They say that they would not have been hurt if you were not here!”
Cay said nothing. Instead, he walked over to them, taking off his combat pack and pulling out the field aid kit. As he started to bandage a child up, the translator commented, “They fear your wraps. They fear that you will try to hurt them. I suggest that you leave them be.”
“But I can’t just let them bleed to death!”
“They would rather die than be touched by an infidel.”
“An infidel…..” he thought, turning into the path of a third RPG.

As Cay lay dying in the streets, he felt… calm. The fact that his marriage had dissolved didn’t worry him. He didn’t wonder whether or not his comrades were alright. He simply knew that in the end, it just didn’t matter.
The native was right. Things wouldn’t have been like this if they were not there. He wouldn’t have died, his wife wouldn’t have left him, and those natives would be living in peace. As slowly his consciousness began to fade, he could only ask himself one thing: Does anything really matter in the end?
And then he saw a light.
And then he saw darkness.