Tuesday, 7/7/10 - The Point of Peace

Fear was not his alone. He could see it in the eyes of the men around him, wide and glassy, jumping blindly here then there then back and back. He could smell it wafting off of them, dark and metallic, the scent of sparks from screeching train wheels.

To most, war appeared chaotic and haphazard but to him it was structured and orderly. Every move, from deceitful feints to decisive strikes, was strategic and purposefully timed.

No, there is nothing random about war. It is a dance, cleverly orchestrated, with a final, deadly embrace. His part - his duty - was to follow orders. No thought, just action.

He was acting now: instinct and adrenaline. Orders had ceased hours ago. Without them he had to rely on his training. By the book, he reminded himself, do it by the book and you will be fine.

But things were moving too fast. In every direction the earth is heaving, coughing, spitting out clots of dirt and licking the morning half-light with tongues of flame.

Reflected firefight was bursting red and yellow in the sweat sheeting down his face. His ears, deafened to the events around him, heard only the drumming of his heart. And in his head a voice, his voice, urging him to move, move! MOVE!

But where?

He is scared. Eyes searching left, right; teeth bared, grinding; every tendon, every muscle, tightened to the point of breaking. He is locked, unable to move.

A distant voice, like a runaway train racing at him, "MOVE! MOVE!! MOVE!!!" The voice slams into him, tramples him.

Flat on his back, the mud feels soft beneath him. The sky above is brightening, taking on the approaching day's first hues of red and gold.

The field around him is silent. Like a colossal game of freeze tag, no one moves.

He looks around. A man in mid-stride, neither foot touching the ground, floats solidly an inch above the earth. A helicopter, rotors stopped and clearly visible, hangs unmoving in the air. Legs spread for stability, a soldier stands, gun butt pressed firmly to shoulder, tendons standing out on hand and arm as a finger forces the trigger back. The end of the gun barrel glows, a puff of smoke and a burst, like fireworks, explodes, unmoving, from the end. A bullethead can be seen emerging through the sparks and smoke. Tracing the path forward, he can see other bullets suspended on their way to some distant target.

Above his head hangs another bullet. Behind that another. And another, arching back to some unknown source. He reaches out to touch it, to feel the heat and the texture of its solid metal surface. As he makes contact an electric shock shoots through his body, the earth beneath him convulses and the sky rends open with a deafening, tearing sound.

The point of peace has passed.

Activity erupts. The soldier mid-stride lands spraying a mixture of blood and water in all directions. The blades of the helicopter resume their thwacking as it rises up and away. Beside him, staccato fire bursts from the muzzle of a gun.

The hole in the sky widens and the sun shines through, shines directly on him. One shaft of pure, white light, touching, warming, lifting...

An unknown face appears above him shaking, screaming, crying, "MOVE!!! MOVE!!! MOVE!!!"

He tries to focus on the face but the light is too bright, too inviting. He moves skyward with the light. Floating. Lighter. Brighter.

He looks back and sees a soldier, himself, unmoving on the ground. Beside his form is another soldier, tear-streaked face raised, mouth open, screaming, "MAN DOWN!! MAN DOWN!!! MAN DOWN!!!"