Death of the Innocents

This is a story on war.......

It was my last chance. I stared at my comrade’s handsome face, his sound chest, strong muscles, and his powerful body. The only stain that marred this portrait was a tiny hole. One would usually deem it as insignificant, had they not noticed the reddish stain next to it. Looking at him, I forced myself to absorb the fact that he was dead, that I would never see him joking again, never see him alive.  I could only watch like a helpless spectator as the doctors placed his body in a bag and shoved it in the truck. All too easily, tears sprung to my eyes as memories flooded my mind….

We had just graduated from college. My mind was strongly fixed on my ambition of evolving into one of the greatest scientists of all times, almost equivalent to that of Albert Einstein. My walk home, however, along with my friend contained a few moments that changed my life. After glancing at the many posters that Army recruiters had put up,  he realized that he could not grow up to become just an everyday worker at offices; he wanted the exhilaration of situations of life and death to be embedded in the carefully and elaborately woven tapestry of his life. The conversation is as follows.

“Say, Ben,” I started abruptly, “What do you think you’re gonna be?” After reading all about Chemistry, I had set my mind on bringing myself to reveal so much in Chemistry that I would regenerate the interest that had long since dissipated in this world. I was sure that there could not be any ambition in existence that could possibly be greater than mine.

“Why, James ain’t it obvious? I told you that I wanna become one of those soldiers in the Iraqi war. Everyone’s heard of the great George Washington ‘cause he won a war. And they’re gonna know me too ‘cause I’m gonna win a war too. Imagine the fame….” His eyes twinkled, his expression softer, as his mind wandering into his made-up future where he would be proclaimed as a savior of his country. The fame slightly found a comfortable spot in my head, compelling me to join the army too. But I couldn’t give up the argument without a fight.

“Well, you’ve gotta realize that everyone knows Einstein too. And besides, you can die any second in a war! What would happen to your family, your children if you have any? Too much of a risk if you ask me!” I argued. I felt quite self-satisfied, proving my point in the argument. I still didn’t think his dream was proper; after all, I didn’t want to lose my best friend.

“Well James. Just answer this simple question. How can you think that you are patriotic if you sit in an office or a laboratory, not doing anything to help the country? Give up your silly ambition, James, and join the Army with me. You mentioned life and death situations. What’s better to light up a life with excitement than the horror of death? Imagine the fun, the integrity, the fight for the U.S., and against the Taliban and terrorists who threaten to trample upon the civilians of the world and use them as their slaves. It will be our job to obliterate these inhumane beings from the face of the Earth, and we shall do it with pride. Think ‘bout it James, an’ let me know when you realize the true dream that you should follow. ” He walked past my house and rang the doorbell to his, while I feverishly hoped he didn’t realize that he had toppled the school’s best debater, even in my favourite topic. Of course, I had felt a spurt of anger because of the “silly ambition” part, but his sentence entirely brought the subject into a new light.

As I pondered on the dream yet more, I became more intrigued in the subject and more wishful to live such an exciting life. The change in my behavior was evident. I began visiting the local gym daily, working out until I had large biceps, a strong chest, and was able to run four miles without stopping for a breath. Ben was the first to notice my unusual behavior.

“So you succumbed to the emotions, eh? Keep it up, James.” Two months later, we had been interviewed by the American army and were chosen for the training. The training was gruesome, complete with an insensitive man heading it.

“All right, gurls, let’s get movin’. We don’t have all day, ya know.” Commander Phelps, as he was called, was a retired army officer with countless successful missions kept under his belt. Even as he moved, you could hear the clink of medals banging into each other. He was slightly round, had a grim face, and steely blue eyes that seemed to bore right into your skull.

The training put more strain on my muscles than ever before, daring them to prove how manly they were by lifting me up and down a rod, performing endless pull-ups. After that, we would be forced into practicing the army crawl, with only our undershirts, on a dirty and rock track for a mile.

“Ya see, gurlies, you’ve gotta practice on these stuff so yer arm fat won’t get nice and tender before the war. If it does, ya ladies are gonna be yelping with pain the whole way.” And that settled it. After the rock bit into our skin with jagged cuts, we were given a minute break- but not to drink water or treat the wounds. The commander pointed out that there would be none of these facilities in the war, so we shouldn’t use them here. After this, scores of other strenuous exercises followed, along with the fact that we should barely eat in the day, since we probably wouldn’t in Iraq. I returned home with more bruises each day, and my mother grew even more worried.

“Come now, James. You’re so thin and scrawny! At least eat another biscuit...?” She implored. I would mumble a no and retire to my bed for the night. At last, finally came the day that we would leave for Iraq. It was the first day in six months that I ate well, sinking my teeth into the scrumptious roast chicken with gravy that my mother had made. The gravy overflowed my senses, willing me to finish off the rest and fill my hungry stomach with the warm meat that had never made me feel so contented before. My mother looked more or less happy over the change in my eating habits. When I opened the door, I found Ben standing right there, waiting for me. My mother and I embraced one last time, tears pouring out of my eyes, and I laid marigolds at my father’s grave in the nearby cemetery; after all, they were his favourite flowers.

And so we boarded the plane, one I very much wished I had. The seats inside were luxurious, providing comfort. However, to my dismay, there was no form of entertainment, so I had to content myself in staring out the window where the landscape above the cloud seemed somewhat monotonous. When we landed, however, the exhilaration rushed back to me upon finding that we could not recognize the landscape. We had no time to view the scenery, for almost at once a cry rang out: “Ben Thomas, James Clarell, Ryan Otterbloom, and Rudolph Moebak, you shall dispatch as a secret attacking group while we charge from the front.”

I looked at Ben and nodded. This was important for both of us. It was our first chance to prove ourselves before the majors, so off we went, stealthily, with the other men, who blundered many times. At last, as dusk was nearing, we fought our way out of the dense undergrowth, and heard the alarm horns blaring, indirectly notifying us of the U.S. attack. Ben ordered us not to shoot; only innocents here. However, we didn’t notice a sniper sitting on a tall house above us; and with a single shot, he punctured Ben’s throat.

Immediately Ben clutched his throat. Gasping, he lifted his hand, blood concealing the skin. I was the first to realize what had happened.

“Emergency, emergency! One man down!” I yelled into my radio. Without waiting for the others, I surged through the forest to the camp, avoiding looking at Ben, whose eyes were rolling up like when he used to scare me, blood streaming out of his mouth like his beloved red paint. His body seemed so weak in my hands. His eyes stared at me accusingly, as if saying, “Why didn’t you see it, James? I trusted you.”

“Help!” I yelled as soon as I reached the makeshift hospital. But too late. The horrifying death of the first innocent. Not killed for his deeds, but by his faction- the side he is on.

Blood. Terrorists. Lies. Fights. Deaths.  War.