One year later
"No," The general said, "I won't have it."
"Sir, I have to go back," I pleaded for the fifth time that day, my voice embarrassingly weak for what I was attempting to convey. "Everyone else gets to, why can't I?"
"Because I said so," he replied harshly, then, pointing his bony, dirt-caked finger toward the door flap of the tent, he ordered, "out!"
For some unknown reason, the general had been against me in every way since the day I'd arrived. He had made everything hard for me - from training to blocking all communication with the outside world.
I glared at him, considering lunging at his throat with a pen, but soon remembered the penalty. I had lunged at him twice before for holding any connection of home from me, and that had resulted in twelve hours of water-boarding, the second time in three days of solitary confinement, with not even so much as food or water. Another offense would be the rope.
I resorted to patience and asking persistently the next week through gritted teeth. Persistence conquers all things.
Another year later,
The AK-47 I had been issued two years earlier trembled in my hands as I loaded the. This was the most recent of countless battles I had fought over the past fourteen months, but the fear never receded. Especially since my faction's commander very adamantly pushed the philosophy that 'this battle will probably be your last'.
"Any minute now," the general announced quietly. We all knew the drill. Once the explosions start, you run. Toward them. The explosions were an attempt at covering the advancement of the troops on the other side, using the cover of dust and debris in the air. My faction and three others waited in growing anxiety as the 'suicide runners' for the sudden tumult of detonations.
Our eyes peeked over the lip of the trench we sat in, scanning the battleground before us. Rusting cars and other metal junk littered the field. The was no doubt there would be mines inside the rust buckets, which would cause extra mayhem with flying bits of metal and glass hitting the defensive soldiers.
I glanced over at Barber, my only good friend in this hell hole of a militia. He passed me a look that could've been either concern or sympathy, but it was impossible to tell. I smiled, although it was weak.
Silence filled the air for a split second before the ground erupted into clouds of dirt, and the hesitation among my comrades was clear. The general screamed at us to get moving, pushing a few of us toward the minefield. I was in the center of the cluster of men from my faction, behind those who were cut down first, but in front of those who would most likely be sweeping the field post-battle for breathing soldiers.
We ran, guns and rifles in hand, and the blood started to spray. The deafening sound of mines detonating rang out still and the offenders continued in an attempt to cover their advancing troops. The confusion of thick dust in the air and visibility limited to a foot in front of your face resulted in a bloody massacre, soldiers mistakenly killing their own comrades. This was commonplace, but it never lost its shock. It was a miracle I was still breathing easily after fourteen battles exactly identical to this one. I shot and punched at oncoming offenders, using the image of Emilie and an image I had created of my child for extra adrenaline.
Before my brain could catch up to its own actions, another explosion blew from within one of the rusty, broken-down cars almost three yards in front of me. I flew back, landing on my side and rolling in pain onto my back. I blinked my eyes open, my eyelashes working to clear the dirt from my eyes, and my ears actively ringing, and looked down to see multiple small shards of metal poking through my heavy jacket. I cried out in pain, calling for help, but my screams were drowned out by the screams of others and continuing detonations. Boots stamped around me, men engaged in a vigorous battle for their lives. Warm blood would occasionally splatter onto me from somewhere I couldn't see. I continued to clench my teeth and attempt at removing myself from the battlefield, but even the slightest movement of my body set off a shooting pain where the shrapnel lay embedded into my flesh.
I lay there long after the battle had ended as well. The dust settled and the body-sweepers came and went, but they didn't get close to where I was since it was technically still the enemy's territory. Eventually, the body-sweepers from the other side found me. I stared in horror as they approached, a gun raised at my head. We were still for a split second before I started scrambling back to the trench. The adrenaline of being chased without a gun in my own hand was the only thing powering me.
There was dirt in my face before I even realized I wasn't moving anymore. I felt a sudden pain shoot up my left leg from my knee. I heard footsteps, then felt a cold hand on the back of my neck. I tried to roll over, but all that came from my body was a whimper. The man left and the light slipped from my eyes.
When I woke, I was on my back staring at the night sky. The pain started again suddenly and I cried out, the sound echoing into the darkness. I looked down at my leg after gathering the strength to sit up despite the shrapnel still stuck in my chest. A bullet had torn through my knee, which now lay limp in a bloody mess. I flung my helmet off as I began to feel unusually and rapidly hot and wiped the sweat from my brow. I attempted to stand, but as soon as any weight was put on my knee I collapsed. I elected to stay, hoping upon hope that Barber would realize I wasn't in the pile of bodies and come looking for me.
Two nights passed, and no one came. The first night I ripped off a strip from the thin white shirt underneath my jacket to form a tourniquet around my leg. I yelped and grunted as I tightened the fabric around my upper thigh.
My thirst after those two days was more than that of a long dried up desert, and my hunger was never truly appeased. Rats began to take interest in the blood-soaked wound the second day. There were rocks all around me and I could've killed a couple for a meal, but I couldn't bring myself to remotely want to eat one of those disgusting creatures, so I simply shooed them away.