Tim the Wiz
Banned
Trinket
Parade rest. The boring death that the ignominious rank and file of infantry was reduced to at the whim of any cocksure officer high enough. Blank faces greeted the scrutiny of the general who was presiding over the rushed assembly. An aftermath of scowling complaints and an upsurge in drinking was usually the best that could be hoped for, but, as it was in the field, the unit remained professional while executing their duty. Oddly enough, there were more than a few grins in the crowded press today. I would have written off such an impression as madness if I hadn't been in the perfect position for such observation. It appeared as if they, too, had bought into the tale.
Today, I was to be honored. And I was sickened.
Attention!
The ranks jumped, stiff and tight, to attention. The general came to a stop adjacent to the Sergeant-Major and I, staring into the faces of the men with us. I bit down on the rampant malaise tearing at my composure. I had tried. I really had. But you couldn't stop this type of song and dance if it was for morale purposes.
The general's voice carried throughout the yard. The bravery and skill of your lieutenant has come to our attention. For his act of meritorious service in the rescue, whilst under fire and after taking injury from an enemy grenade, of a fellow soldier wounded on reconnaissance into hostile territory, the United States Armed Forces award Lieutenant John Leech with the Bronze Star. He moved forward, gathering the medal from his pocket, with a smile.
General. I saluted and held attention as he pinned the sucker on my chest.
Lieutenant, the general replied with an indulgent grin and a quick salute.
I glanced downwards at the shiny bronze thing now pinned to my chest. Resisting the urge to pluck it off and hurl it away from me, I glared up into the brightly-hued sky instead. Sunlight pierced my brow as I traced the clouds sweeping across the horizon. But then, I traced something more: a memory which had lingered throughout the day.
Flashes of light were alive in the night-sky the music of coarse gunfire filling the air at every damnable second as mud clung to the boots of soldiers it would soon embrace. I moved and sped with two men trailing at intentionally random intervals towards the unit's main position. We weren't running. We were moving. Low and fast, minimizing the risk of hostile fire.
"Fortune is the only thing that separates the heroes and the dead! Never forget that, soldier.
In silence? No, the sergeant made sure of that.
"Yessir, fortune. Ha! Might as well accept you're already a dead " The bullet took him in the neck and pulled him down hard to crunch into the dirt.
The private and I dropped straight to the ground. Hands pulling, fingers clawing, knees pushing; we made it to the side of the writhing sergeant. Neck splattered with blood and eyes caught in shock, he was numbly disoriented and lost in the initial thrall of critical injury.
A frozen moment. My skin crawled. The private next to me looked up, no more than nineteen or twenty, expecting answers and oblivious to the possibility of death. A steady throbbing kept tempo somewhere in my head. The answers the boy wanted now were simple, the product of naivety. It was a wonder he didn't come right out and say it. We can save him! Hell, we can save them all. Just tell me how, sir. There had to be answers, right?
Not his fault really. The kid was new, shipped in last week. Soon, though, he'd want the more complex answers: how to deal. Surely these people wouldn't be here, still able to fight and keep on going, if they didn't know the secret of how to stay sane when all their friends and enemies, rivals and jokes, dropouts and geeks, but brothers all the same, kept dying around them while they stayed alive for no better reason than chance. They'd know how to deal for sure.
Right?
The sergeant's face came back to life. His fever-dripped eyes looked into mine. He tried to speak. Neck disintegrating before every word and tongue weighed down by what looked like several tonnes. He tried to speak. The shocked eyes of the private reflected my own desire to scream and stop the man from attempting a last futile he had to be dying grasp on communicating to a world he would never see again.
It happened in an instant. A fluke. From nowhere, a grenade skittered along the ground, stopping to rest at the base of a tree not three meters from us. No thought. Just action, as our souls were stripped bare.
The private leaped towards it. I dove away.
A roar washed over me. Fire bathed my vision in an instant. My body burned and I breathed nothing. Slowly recovering, my first glimpse outside the blackness showed the dismantled corpse of the private splattered across the jungle floor. The pain needled in on my joints and the coughs wracked my body, but the only thing I remained aware of was the disintegrated mess staining the ground two meters away from me.
It took a while before I realized one thing had gone right. The sergeant was still breathing.
I was pulled back to the scorching disorientation of the courtyard by an elbow to the ribs that threatened to puncture my lungs. The scent of horse manure and sweating, packed soldiers had never been as enticing. It came out before I could think. I never found out his name.
Who's name, soldier? The general's eyes narrowed. Only he and the elbow-happy soldier next to me had heard.
My hand stroked the face of the medal I had wanted to rip off my uniform moments before. Never mind, sir. I'll wear it for him.
Parade rest. The boring death that the ignominious rank and file of infantry was reduced to at the whim of any cocksure officer high enough. Blank faces greeted the scrutiny of the general who was presiding over the rushed assembly. An aftermath of scowling complaints and an upsurge in drinking was usually the best that could be hoped for, but, as it was in the field, the unit remained professional while executing their duty. Oddly enough, there were more than a few grins in the crowded press today. I would have written off such an impression as madness if I hadn't been in the perfect position for such observation. It appeared as if they, too, had bought into the tale.
Today, I was to be honored. And I was sickened.
Attention!
The ranks jumped, stiff and tight, to attention. The general came to a stop adjacent to the Sergeant-Major and I, staring into the faces of the men with us. I bit down on the rampant malaise tearing at my composure. I had tried. I really had. But you couldn't stop this type of song and dance if it was for morale purposes.
The general's voice carried throughout the yard. The bravery and skill of your lieutenant has come to our attention. For his act of meritorious service in the rescue, whilst under fire and after taking injury from an enemy grenade, of a fellow soldier wounded on reconnaissance into hostile territory, the United States Armed Forces award Lieutenant John Leech with the Bronze Star. He moved forward, gathering the medal from his pocket, with a smile.
General. I saluted and held attention as he pinned the sucker on my chest.
Lieutenant, the general replied with an indulgent grin and a quick salute.
I glanced downwards at the shiny bronze thing now pinned to my chest. Resisting the urge to pluck it off and hurl it away from me, I glared up into the brightly-hued sky instead. Sunlight pierced my brow as I traced the clouds sweeping across the horizon. But then, I traced something more: a memory which had lingered throughout the day.
Flashes of light were alive in the night-sky the music of coarse gunfire filling the air at every damnable second as mud clung to the boots of soldiers it would soon embrace. I moved and sped with two men trailing at intentionally random intervals towards the unit's main position. We weren't running. We were moving. Low and fast, minimizing the risk of hostile fire.
"Fortune is the only thing that separates the heroes and the dead! Never forget that, soldier.
In silence? No, the sergeant made sure of that.
"Yessir, fortune. Ha! Might as well accept you're already a dead " The bullet took him in the neck and pulled him down hard to crunch into the dirt.
The private and I dropped straight to the ground. Hands pulling, fingers clawing, knees pushing; we made it to the side of the writhing sergeant. Neck splattered with blood and eyes caught in shock, he was numbly disoriented and lost in the initial thrall of critical injury.
A frozen moment. My skin crawled. The private next to me looked up, no more than nineteen or twenty, expecting answers and oblivious to the possibility of death. A steady throbbing kept tempo somewhere in my head. The answers the boy wanted now were simple, the product of naivety. It was a wonder he didn't come right out and say it. We can save him! Hell, we can save them all. Just tell me how, sir. There had to be answers, right?
Not his fault really. The kid was new, shipped in last week. Soon, though, he'd want the more complex answers: how to deal. Surely these people wouldn't be here, still able to fight and keep on going, if they didn't know the secret of how to stay sane when all their friends and enemies, rivals and jokes, dropouts and geeks, but brothers all the same, kept dying around them while they stayed alive for no better reason than chance. They'd know how to deal for sure.
Right?
The sergeant's face came back to life. His fever-dripped eyes looked into mine. He tried to speak. Neck disintegrating before every word and tongue weighed down by what looked like several tonnes. He tried to speak. The shocked eyes of the private reflected my own desire to scream and stop the man from attempting a last futile he had to be dying grasp on communicating to a world he would never see again.
It happened in an instant. A fluke. From nowhere, a grenade skittered along the ground, stopping to rest at the base of a tree not three meters from us. No thought. Just action, as our souls were stripped bare.
The private leaped towards it. I dove away.
A roar washed over me. Fire bathed my vision in an instant. My body burned and I breathed nothing. Slowly recovering, my first glimpse outside the blackness showed the dismantled corpse of the private splattered across the jungle floor. The pain needled in on my joints and the coughs wracked my body, but the only thing I remained aware of was the disintegrated mess staining the ground two meters away from me.
It took a while before I realized one thing had gone right. The sergeant was still breathing.
I was pulled back to the scorching disorientation of the courtyard by an elbow to the ribs that threatened to puncture my lungs. The scent of horse manure and sweating, packed soldiers had never been as enticing. It came out before I could think. I never found out his name.
Who's name, soldier? The general's eyes narrowed. Only he and the elbow-happy soldier next to me had heard.
My hand stroked the face of the medal I had wanted to rip off my uniform moments before. Never mind, sir. I'll wear it for him.
