Realities of War
Sparkling dots against a black canvas, my best girl by my side. As I lean in for that perfect kiss a huge boom jolts me out of my cot. It takes a moment for my brain to clear and register what I’m hearing as my brothers rush to dress. Following in suit, we grab our firearms and rush out into the darkest of nights. No moon, no stars, just pure blackness surrounds us.
Then small flashes dot the hill below us, “Incoming” someone screams. We all take cover as a barrage of gunfire begins. Aiming in the direction of the sounds, we all begin firing back. It has begun, what we were trained for, what we were warned about, what we were told by Major Stinson “Don’t allow them to take the hill. We must save the hill.”
From the moment of that first boom, the fighting began and it didn’t stop. For four straight days, day and night, night and day, day after day, we fought our hardest. We maintained our positions and continued our assault.
By the fourth day, exhaustion began taking a toll on some of the younger, less seasoned soldiers. The noise made sleep virtually impossible. Being on the front lines wasn’t as glamorous as recruiters made it sound. It was downright, scary. From minute to minute not knowing if that next shell, or the next bullet would strike you. All of our lives hung before with every pull of the trigger, with every bullet that whizzed by you and every blast that landed within a stone throw of where you were.
Day five came with God awful, nauseating smells. Smells we all struggled to deal with. The smells of death mixed with gunpowder intertwined with the stench of sweat, vomit, piss, and shit. Odors that hung over the camp as well as the battlefield, permeated into our clothing and our bodies. Not even the occasion shower would relieve the senses of the horrendous smells. Cadavers began to swell to as much as twice their normal size forcing stomachs to burst releasing foul smelling gases to add to the overload.
Besides the odors and continuous firefights, many began to show signs they were unable to deal with the mental tolls the constant battle was taking on all of us. On the seventh day, I saw two from another platoon take their own lives. The risks of friendly fire became.
When nighttime fell the only light was the flicker of embers dotted around camp from cigarettes. Beer and whiskey were used to wash whatever tastes you could from your mouths. The metallic taste of blood, sometimes your own, sometimes another’s. Rest did not come easily, no matter how hard you tried or how drunk you got. In the distance there was always sounds of the battlefield getting closer and closer.
Today bombers arrived, blasting away large areas we would never reach. Screams from our faceless enemy could be heard throughout the night, as the aerial assault continued.
Day ten arrived, I could no longer look at or think about the men we’d lost. It became pure and simple survival. I had to get home to my family, and to my girl. As the assaults continued, the killing fields we began to refer to the hill, the 7 miles down with the many ravines were our enemy was so good at hiding. I continued to hear the Major’s voice in my head “Don’t give up the hill. we must save the hill.” All I could think of was “No, I must save myself.”
I had been witness to our chef, the nicest man you’d ever meet, being blown apart. My friend, my buddy hunkered down next to me was shot in the face, blood spewed over me. It was getting closer. The faceless slowly became faces I saw on the hillside, so close they could have cut me down if my instincts were just a little slower. Looking into their eyes, I saw the same fear I was feeling.
It became harder and harder to know which planes belonged to us and which belonged to the other side. Tanks rolled over everything in its path, crushing trees, matting the grass and bushes with such ease. From above you could see dots moving, running, screaming. If you didn’t know better, it was like watching a movie with surround sound.
Early on Day twenty, the gunfire began to cease, the shelling stopped. We were hopeful that it was over, at least for now. Word came down hours later, the enemy had retreated, they were regrouping moving their efforts to the next hill. Whoops and hollers came from all around.
Day twenty-one brought the hardest day of my young life. We were tasked with search and retrieval of bodies and US property. I stood and looked down the hill, the bloody hill littered with thousands upon thousands of dead bodies. Reality sat in as I trooped through the mud and blood, the tangled, mangled, dismembered bodies. Then I saw the faces of the dead, nightmarish empty faces, some disintegrating in the very place they dropped. Few distinguishing features on many, how would they ever be identified.
As a man of faith, I began to see the truth about war, not just this war, but every way. The reality of the past six days had come to light. Looking down at these bodies we called the enemy, tears welled in my eyes. These boys, these men were just like me, just like those of us on the other side, their enemy. They were fighting for what they believed, just like me. They were husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers. They were no different than me, just born in a different place. They loved and they were loved. “Oh, Dear God, what have I done?” I mumbled to myself.
Right then and there I fell to my knees, sinking into the mud and blood, I cried and begged “Lord, please forgive me for what I’ve done. Please forgive me for my part in this killing, for going against Your word, Your commandments. Oh, Lord, please forgive me, cleanse me of the terrible things I’ve done. Help me to deal with the travesties that have taken place here. Oh, my Lord, please, please forgive me, lead me back to the person I know I am.”