War Never Changes
I see my breath dance through the air. I feel the snow crunch under my boots. The cold is starting to discomfort me. We’ve been waiting on this hillside for hours, listening for orders. All we seem to do is wait. I want to do something, actually fight this war. They tell stories of the bloody battles but I’ve never been blessed with the opportunity of glory. I wish to be seen as courageous like the ones before me...
...We are growing restless and tired. We need to attack before sun down or it will be another unsuccessful day. I must move, reposition, do something. There is no way that I can just wait. Every second I wait my pride is diminishing. We must attack, we must attack swiftly and vehemently. Our officers speak such high praise of themselves, but are not making any actions to win this war. I should be up there, commanding the forces. I would be much better than them. The independents are well off, they win a majority of battles without funding or manpower. We never aggress, we’re letting them win.
A Confederate convoy is moving out of the town. There is no better opportunity to attack. We have not received any order and I am disturbed. I pick up my knapsack and sling my canteen over my shoulder. I will no longer wait for a fearful man’s orders. I fasten my bayonet to my musket and remove my jacket. It may be cold, but my deep blue uniform could give our positioning away. I slowly move down the hillside. The slush makes my footing unstable but no matter. I move down carefully and methodically. My boots begin to fill with snow. Uncomfortable, yes, but nothing a noble soldier cannot handle.
I finally make my way down the hill and begin moving toward the enemy convoy. The field is open, but the visibility is low. My pace slows and my walk becomes a crawl. The grass is long enough to hide my body. I will be hidden from the enemy. As I pull my body through the field I feel the dirt and snow get caught under my shirt. Discomfort builds a soldier, makes him stronger...
...After only mere minutes of crawling and hiding, I reach a small barn. No soldiers in sight so I decide to enter. Nothing but hay on the ground, horses in the stables. It’s calm, somewhat serene despite the enemy only being feet away. I make my way towards the second floor of the barn. A small band of Confederate soldiers is within my sight, clear as day. I aim my musket, but do not pull the trigger. No reason to fire and die. I wait, my body beginning to chill in the snow. The union must attack, they must...
...It feels as if an hour has passed. The convoy has been gone for quite some time. No sign of the Union blue uniform anywhere on the battlefield.
I have to do something, we must win for the Union.
I fire my musket and hit a Confederate. This creates panic amongst the enemy who begin firing at the hillside.
They knew where we were the entire time.
I see gray uniforms fire shot after shot into the white hills.
They might have a chance.
They charge down the hillside, blue uniforms painting the white snow. Confederates and Union alike locked in combat. The Union soldiers pass the barn, and I join them in their charge. I hear cheering and yelling, this is what my fellow soldiers were waiting for, the chance to become heroes.
...
I hear nothing but the crash of distorted gunfire and explosions. I see nothing but green combat uniform. I feel nothing but the weight of my helmet pull my head downward. The boat comes to a striking halt.
“This is what separates the boys from the men.”
Before the ramp can deploy, boots drop into the cold water below. Their voices peak as they cheer loudly, how can they be so confident? I feel no such morale. I stay standing in my position, not making a single movement. I clutch my rifle tightly, tighter than any vise. The loud crashing and booming invades my sanity. My chest drops to the ground and my hands cover my neck. I hear the cries of soldiers, the cries of men.
I cannot go out there, there’s little chance of survival. What will my daughter do without me? Why am I fighting in a War I don’t even agree with.
I hear bullets ricochet off the sides of the landing craft. The frigid water begins filling the hull. First my feet, then legs, then torso, submerge into the abyss. I frantically try to collect my thoughts. My mind and body begin to seize as the frigidity rushes through my body. I begin to thrash about, displacing the water and moving myself forward.
I never really was a good swimmer.
Only a few seconds have transpired and my floating body nears the beach. I thrust my arms downward and begin to claw at the sand. I drag my cold, anemic body toward the shore. I begin to posture up when I feel the water become shallow. My bones quiver inside my skin, I feel as if I can barely move. I move quickly through the cold water, my slow tread becomes a march, a sprint, then a run. Adrenaline shoots through my body, warming every inch that was frozen. My vision begins to clear. I see a large sandy beach littered with dead bodies. I only see Americans, no Germans, only Americans.
I feel all color flood out of my skin.
We’re fighting ghosts, this is a goddamn slaughter.
I look to the hillside, I only see the flashes of firearms. I discharge my rifle toward the hillside. It’s all I can do. A barrage of hellfire hits the sand only inches in front of me. I dive to my left and cover my body with sand. A fortress standing upon pillars of sand is the only thing keeping me alive.
Christ please, Lord above, please. Make this stop. Give me a chance.
The crashing and booming halts but it only will be for less than seconds.
This is my chance.
I charge towards the hillside, moving faster than I previously believed possible. I discharge my weapon, and as if moving in slow motion I see two bullets rip through the air. My stress and adrenaline are at all time highs. My face is shaking, my vision is blurred, and my ears are ringing. I feel like my entire body is going to shut down, but I cannot let it. I leap forward and begin to crawl in the sand. I try to cover my body as much as possible to try to hide myself from the opposition.
I feel like an animal, this isn’t who I am.
The coarse sand is in my boots and clothes, but for once in my life I do not feel bothered. I push my back against a small group of rocks. How the hell did I make it this far? I slowly push up into Normandy, staying extremely aware of my surroundings. Men to my left and right drop like flies, yet the rest of us are expected to continue invading.
I break away from the larger group and begin scouting out a small German pillbox. Looks like the soldiers abandoned it only moments ago. Glad to see that the Germans are somewhat retreating.
Suddenly I feel something cool jab at my back.
“Schrei und du stirbst,” I hear a heavy German accent.
I turn toward my attacker, he hits me in the chest with the stock of his rifle. The man is small in stature. His hair is stark blonde and his eyes blue. Looks like Hitler’s perfect Aryan. This man has seen war, I can tell by the tears of passion in his eyes. His teeth are yellow and gnarled, his faced littered with patchy hair. How long was this disgusting rat camped out in here?
“Stupid American, Hitler wird gewinnen,” He snarls.
I say nothing, mostly because I can’t understand him, but also because I have nothing to say to such villainy. A boom of gunfire breaks our silence, he turns his head allowing me the opportunity to fight back against my captor. I knee him in the back, with a shout he drops his rifle. I kick the back of his knee causing him to fall to the ground and turn toward me. I land a punch into the left side of his jaw.
He begins to laugh maniacally. The ruckus attracts the attention of my fellow soldiers, they grab the Nazi by the arms and drag him away. One of the soldiers pats me on the back, but I don’t feel proud, only stressed. I look down my hands, they’re shaking erratically.
Screw this place...
...
In some kind of backward savage way I really enjoy this war. I feel like a badass sent straight from heaven. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m fighting for, all I know is that I can do whatever I want. No goddamn law, barely any government, and god knows that the other boys enjoy it too. No one is stopping us, any of us. We can get all past angers out, hell they encourage it. Are humans not natural born predators? We hunt using our minds, we outsmart animals just like how we outsmart and overpower the Viet Cong. If anything it’s their fault we’re here, so why should it matter what we do, who we kill. I hear there’s a bullshit peace and love war protest or whatever. Trust me, if those jobless civilians were in my shoes, they’d be having just as much fun.
I’m seated on a chopper, flying toward the drop point. All we’re doing is scouting the area, taking out an resistance. Honestly, I don’t even know the whole story, lord knows I don’t care. Biggs is firing the MG, I walk over and hold his shoulder.
“Who you targeting, asshole?” I ask him.
He chuckles, “Only the Congs.” He winks at me.
We laugh, some of the boys look disgusted, others join in on the fun.
“Woah, you see that one burst open!” One of the grunts says.
“Like an overfilled balloon.” Biggs shouts.
The chopper begins its descent. I’m giddy.
“My favorite time of the day boys,” I say with confidence.
“Then let’s rock n roll.”
I grasp hold of my M60, sling it over my chest, and jump out of the transport helicopter. My boots sink into the mud below me. The sergeant begins explaining today's task but I tune out. I really don’t care what he has to say. We begin to walk through the camp. There are a grunts playing games, grunts polishing their rifles, grunts just overall enjoying being away from home.
“Alright slugs, let’s move out.”
There are eight of us in the squadron. Myself, Biggs, “Hog”, “Alpine”, “Doc”, Smith, “Curly Top”, and “Trainee”. We are all patrolling the area. I’m not sure what the specifics are but I was told to shoot anything that moves. I have the perfect tool for the job.
My M60 is an extension of myself. I feel bonded to it, almost like it’s my child. I’ve had the same one since the beginning, I’ve never used anything else, I never will. I know this MG better than I know my fellow grunts.
I see some rustling in the tree, without a second thought I begin firing into it. The sound of brass shells hitting the dirt is even better than the sound of my mother's voice. I grin, showing all my teeth. I ceasefire. Everything goes silent. My excitement turns to furiosity. I hear return fire, my entire quad drops to the ground, myself being the only exception.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I explode with anger.
“Weak little Charlies, come on, face us. Defend your God forsaken country.”
I begin to unload my machine gun into the trees.
“I won’t stop until you damn gooks come out and play.”
I continue firing my MG until three bloodied bodies crash onto the ground. I stomp toward the bodies and laugh. I pick up one of the grenades strapped to the Viet Cong’s chest.
“Consider this a gift from us.”
I throw the grenade into the trees. On its detonation I hear screams.
They deserve it, I feel no remorse.
“Get up boys, you know I always handle these situations.” I say with a grin.
The grunts get up, cautiously and one by one. Trainee is the last to stand up. He looks uneasy. Without any notice he hunches over and pukes.
“What, you don’t like your congs shredded?” Biggs laughs, somewhat maniacally.
“This is unacceptable, they’re people too. Can’t you see that you goddamned meatheads.” Trainee says, all color flooding from his face.
“Excuse me?” I stare at him with daggers in my eyes.
“I saved your life and this is how you thank me? You ungrateful son of a bitch.”
I grab Trainee by his collar and force him to the ground, right next to one of the half dead Viet Congs.
“This could’ve been you grunt, this could’ve been you. If it wasn’t for me this goddamn would’ve been you. Do you understand you maggot?”
I press my boot into his back. He whimpers.
“Answer me you piece of shit, answer me!”
Hog and Alpine pull me back.
“It isn’t worth it, he’s one of us. He was forced here just like you” Hog says, his voice frantic yet gruff and stern.
“Hell, I might have been forced here but this is our life now. You need to start realizing that we’re worth more than them. We need to survive. Y’all don’t appreciate what I do for this squadron, I am the backbone, without me y'all are nothing. You would all be dead. You hear me?”
I lift my M60 off the ground and begin storming off. I stomp the head of the Viet Cong closest to Trainee.
“I’ll kill every last one of them, every last one of them you hear.”
...
Sweat drips from every pore. I try to wipe it off my brow to no avail. It keeps storming down my face. Is it the heat? Is it the anxiety? It doesn't matter. I need to stay sharp, level headed. We all are, we always are. They could come at any time, we’ll be ready. We always are. I collect my thoughts and check my magazine. Not a bullet missing, just like it was two minutes ago. I look to my left, sand, to my right, sand. Nothing but desert surrounds us...
...Three hours have passed. We’re still marching in the middle of nowhere, goal nowhere in sight. My legs grow weary, my head heavy. My fellow Marines are starting to wear, glad to see it isn’t just me.
“Keep treading on soldiers, we’ll reach our objective soon enough.”
The Sergeant’s voice sounds morose, even he’s given up hope. I check my gear, what’s loose I tighten, what’s tight I loosen. I adjust my helmet, my plate carrier, and my gloves. The coarse sand is everywhere. It coats my eyes, lines my throat, and covers my arms. I would be annoyed, but I’m too fatigued...
...The sun gets hotter and hotter with each passing moment. I check my canteen, bone dry. I look toward the horizon, nothing but desert. Every pound of gear on my body gets heavier and heavier. My legs feel like gelatine and my back burns. I cannot bear the weight for much longer...
...Finally the sun begins its descend on the horizon. The extreme heat begins to die down, but the unforgiving cold will soon take over my body. Before the sky turns black I see something in the distance, maybe two miles away. How did I not notice it sooner? Hopefully I am not seeing things, hopefully it's actually there...
...My fellow soldiers look horrible. Their skin is red, spotted with black and blue bruises. Their eyes are bloodshot with a thick sandy film. Their eyes have never looked so empty. These men have lost the only thing you can have out here, hope. We keep treading forward, I no longer see that something in the distance. All we can do is continue...
...The night sky in the desert, there’s nothing like it. Back in the states the bright lights ruin it all. Here you can see everything. It’s unbelievable. There are swirls of blue, gold, and white with glowing yellow stars littered all over.
I can’t believe such beauty exists in this hellscape. We can’t take three steps without being bombarded, unless we’re stranded in the middle of the desert and are wandering aimlessly for hours...
...With every ounce of energy we can muster, our slow crawl becomes a run. We begin shedding our equipment, first helmet, then packs, then plate carriers. I slam my body against the door and begin to claw. A Marine opens the door.
“Sir, we have a situation.”
Three Marines exit the house. One by one they begin carrying us into the building.
“You boys have been through some shit...”
...My torso shoots upward. I feel my heart bursting through my chest. I start coughing, I can’t stop coughing. My body starts shaking. I try to get posture up but I fall to my side. I continue to cough.
“Jesus Christ, calm down soldier, breathe.” I hear a rough voice.
A large gray man takes a seat by my side. His face is square, with a large square jaw, and sharp defined cheekbones. His brow is wide and stern. He looks like a military action figure. A rough and tough perfect soldier.
“Ye, yes sir.” I reply my voice shaky and dry.
“Wh.. where are the others? Are they okay?” I ask.
“They’re in the same place as you. Dehydrated and exhausted. A transport is on route to our location. It’ll take you and your friends back to base. It’s not safe for injured here.”
“Understood...”
...The ground is quaking and I hear an engine roar. Sounds like the transport. A group of soldiers enter my room. They help me up and we walk to the transport. They sit me down and go back into the house to get the others.
I can finally see the light of hope in the darkness. The building is a house, a small unasuming house. Looks like it was abandoned by its owner and repurposed by Marines. Its sandy, old, creaky, but looks effective. It keeps our uniform camoflagued in the warzone.
This could actually end up being okay.
A boom of gunfire litters the air. It’s close, but I don’t know for certain how close it is. I hear a soldier call out location. I need a rifle, I need to help. I open the tailgate of the transport and jump down. I find my face buried in the dirt. I try to pull my body back up but my legs aren’t strong enough. I try to get up once more, I’m successful this time. I stumble toward the house and try to explain the situation.
“We already know soldier, get back into the transport, now.”
I don’t listen. I grasp my carbine and hold it close to my chest. Another soldier tries to grab it from me, I don’t let him. I back outside. I feel a bit more level headed now, I’m no longer disoriented or dizzy. The other Marines rush outside.
“Get into the transport now, that’s an order.” My Sergeant has a bandage wrapped around his head. He’s in the worst situation of us all.
I refuse to listen and hold my position. If they come our way they will be stopped. I refuse to let my fellow Marines die, not after what we just went through.
...
I wrote these stories to show that every war at its core is the same. Every soldier in every war is living in the same hell as the people before them. They may experience the hellscape differently, but it’s all the same amount terrible. I used primary sources in each story, mostly pulling from history books that I own. I also used stereotypes shown in movies to show how each is perceived by the public. I tried to combine stereotypes and attributes that are contrary. Modern soldiers are seen as super heroes, yet they have weaknesses and face anxiety. Soldiers in WWII are seen as drones, yet they were still people with complex emotions and worries.
I see my breath dance through the air. I feel the snow crunch under my boots. The cold is starting to discomfort me. We’ve been waiting on this hillside for hours, listening for orders. All we seem to do is wait. I want to do something, actually fight this war. They tell stories of the bloody battles but I’ve never been blessed with the opportunity of glory. I wish to be seen as courageous like the ones before me...
...We are growing restless and tired. We need to attack before sun down or it will be another unsuccessful day. I must move, reposition, do something. There is no way that I can just wait. Every second I wait my pride is diminishing. We must attack, we must attack swiftly and vehemently. Our officers speak such high praise of themselves, but are not making any actions to win this war. I should be up there, commanding the forces. I would be much better than them. The independents are well off, they win a majority of battles without funding or manpower. We never aggress, we’re letting them win.
A Confederate convoy is moving out of the town. There is no better opportunity to attack. We have not received any order and I am disturbed. I pick up my knapsack and sling my canteen over my shoulder. I will no longer wait for a fearful man’s orders. I fasten my bayonet to my musket and remove my jacket. It may be cold, but my deep blue uniform could give our positioning away. I slowly move down the hillside. The slush makes my footing unstable but no matter. I move down carefully and methodically. My boots begin to fill with snow. Uncomfortable, yes, but nothing a noble soldier cannot handle.
I finally make my way down the hill and begin moving toward the enemy convoy. The field is open, but the visibility is low. My pace slows and my walk becomes a crawl. The grass is long enough to hide my body. I will be hidden from the enemy. As I pull my body through the field I feel the dirt and snow get caught under my shirt. Discomfort builds a soldier, makes him stronger...
...After only mere minutes of crawling and hiding, I reach a small barn. No soldiers in sight so I decide to enter. Nothing but hay on the ground, horses in the stables. It’s calm, somewhat serene despite the enemy only being feet away. I make my way towards the second floor of the barn. A small band of Confederate soldiers is within my sight, clear as day. I aim my musket, but do not pull the trigger. No reason to fire and die. I wait, my body beginning to chill in the snow. The union must attack, they must...
...It feels as if an hour has passed. The convoy has been gone for quite some time. No sign of the Union blue uniform anywhere on the battlefield.
I have to do something, we must win for the Union.
I fire my musket and hit a Confederate. This creates panic amongst the enemy who begin firing at the hillside.
They knew where we were the entire time.
I see gray uniforms fire shot after shot into the white hills.
They might have a chance.
They charge down the hillside, blue uniforms painting the white snow. Confederates and Union alike locked in combat. The Union soldiers pass the barn, and I join them in their charge. I hear cheering and yelling, this is what my fellow soldiers were waiting for, the chance to become heroes.
...
I hear nothing but the crash of distorted gunfire and explosions. I see nothing but green combat uniform. I feel nothing but the weight of my helmet pull my head downward. The boat comes to a striking halt.
“This is what separates the boys from the men.”
Before the ramp can deploy, boots drop into the cold water below. Their voices peak as they cheer loudly, how can they be so confident? I feel no such morale. I stay standing in my position, not making a single movement. I clutch my rifle tightly, tighter than any vise. The loud crashing and booming invades my sanity. My chest drops to the ground and my hands cover my neck. I hear the cries of soldiers, the cries of men.
I cannot go out there, there’s little chance of survival. What will my daughter do without me? Why am I fighting in a War I don’t even agree with.
I hear bullets ricochet off the sides of the landing craft. The frigid water begins filling the hull. First my feet, then legs, then torso, submerge into the abyss. I frantically try to collect my thoughts. My mind and body begin to seize as the frigidity rushes through my body. I begin to thrash about, displacing the water and moving myself forward.
I never really was a good swimmer.
Only a few seconds have transpired and my floating body nears the beach. I thrust my arms downward and begin to claw at the sand. I drag my cold, anemic body toward the shore. I begin to posture up when I feel the water become shallow. My bones quiver inside my skin, I feel as if I can barely move. I move quickly through the cold water, my slow tread becomes a march, a sprint, then a run. Adrenaline shoots through my body, warming every inch that was frozen. My vision begins to clear. I see a large sandy beach littered with dead bodies. I only see Americans, no Germans, only Americans.
I feel all color flood out of my skin.
We’re fighting ghosts, this is a goddamn slaughter.
I look to the hillside, I only see the flashes of firearms. I discharge my rifle toward the hillside. It’s all I can do. A barrage of hellfire hits the sand only inches in front of me. I dive to my left and cover my body with sand. A fortress standing upon pillars of sand is the only thing keeping me alive.
Christ please, Lord above, please. Make this stop. Give me a chance.
The crashing and booming halts but it only will be for less than seconds.
This is my chance.
I charge towards the hillside, moving faster than I previously believed possible. I discharge my weapon, and as if moving in slow motion I see two bullets rip through the air. My stress and adrenaline are at all time highs. My face is shaking, my vision is blurred, and my ears are ringing. I feel like my entire body is going to shut down, but I cannot let it. I leap forward and begin to crawl in the sand. I try to cover my body as much as possible to try to hide myself from the opposition.
I feel like an animal, this isn’t who I am.
The coarse sand is in my boots and clothes, but for once in my life I do not feel bothered. I push my back against a small group of rocks. How the hell did I make it this far? I slowly push up into Normandy, staying extremely aware of my surroundings. Men to my left and right drop like flies, yet the rest of us are expected to continue invading.
I break away from the larger group and begin scouting out a small German pillbox. Looks like the soldiers abandoned it only moments ago. Glad to see that the Germans are somewhat retreating.
Suddenly I feel something cool jab at my back.
“Schrei und du stirbst,” I hear a heavy German accent.
I turn toward my attacker, he hits me in the chest with the stock of his rifle. The man is small in stature. His hair is stark blonde and his eyes blue. Looks like Hitler’s perfect Aryan. This man has seen war, I can tell by the tears of passion in his eyes. His teeth are yellow and gnarled, his faced littered with patchy hair. How long was this disgusting rat camped out in here?
“Stupid American, Hitler wird gewinnen,” He snarls.
I say nothing, mostly because I can’t understand him, but also because I have nothing to say to such villainy. A boom of gunfire breaks our silence, he turns his head allowing me the opportunity to fight back against my captor. I knee him in the back, with a shout he drops his rifle. I kick the back of his knee causing him to fall to the ground and turn toward me. I land a punch into the left side of his jaw.
He begins to laugh maniacally. The ruckus attracts the attention of my fellow soldiers, they grab the Nazi by the arms and drag him away. One of the soldiers pats me on the back, but I don’t feel proud, only stressed. I look down my hands, they’re shaking erratically.
Screw this place...
...
In some kind of backward savage way I really enjoy this war. I feel like a badass sent straight from heaven. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m fighting for, all I know is that I can do whatever I want. No goddamn law, barely any government, and god knows that the other boys enjoy it too. No one is stopping us, any of us. We can get all past angers out, hell they encourage it. Are humans not natural born predators? We hunt using our minds, we outsmart animals just like how we outsmart and overpower the Viet Cong. If anything it’s their fault we’re here, so why should it matter what we do, who we kill. I hear there’s a bullshit peace and love war protest or whatever. Trust me, if those jobless civilians were in my shoes, they’d be having just as much fun.
I’m seated on a chopper, flying toward the drop point. All we’re doing is scouting the area, taking out an resistance. Honestly, I don’t even know the whole story, lord knows I don’t care. Biggs is firing the MG, I walk over and hold his shoulder.
“Who you targeting, asshole?” I ask him.
He chuckles, “Only the Congs.” He winks at me.
We laugh, some of the boys look disgusted, others join in on the fun.
“Woah, you see that one burst open!” One of the grunts says.
“Like an overfilled balloon.” Biggs shouts.
The chopper begins its descent. I’m giddy.
“My favorite time of the day boys,” I say with confidence.
“Then let’s rock n roll.”
I grasp hold of my M60, sling it over my chest, and jump out of the transport helicopter. My boots sink into the mud below me. The sergeant begins explaining today's task but I tune out. I really don’t care what he has to say. We begin to walk through the camp. There are a grunts playing games, grunts polishing their rifles, grunts just overall enjoying being away from home.
“Alright slugs, let’s move out.”
There are eight of us in the squadron. Myself, Biggs, “Hog”, “Alpine”, “Doc”, Smith, “Curly Top”, and “Trainee”. We are all patrolling the area. I’m not sure what the specifics are but I was told to shoot anything that moves. I have the perfect tool for the job.
My M60 is an extension of myself. I feel bonded to it, almost like it’s my child. I’ve had the same one since the beginning, I’ve never used anything else, I never will. I know this MG better than I know my fellow grunts.
I see some rustling in the tree, without a second thought I begin firing into it. The sound of brass shells hitting the dirt is even better than the sound of my mother's voice. I grin, showing all my teeth. I ceasefire. Everything goes silent. My excitement turns to furiosity. I hear return fire, my entire quad drops to the ground, myself being the only exception.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I explode with anger.
“Weak little Charlies, come on, face us. Defend your God forsaken country.”
I begin to unload my machine gun into the trees.
“I won’t stop until you damn gooks come out and play.”
I continue firing my MG until three bloodied bodies crash onto the ground. I stomp toward the bodies and laugh. I pick up one of the grenades strapped to the Viet Cong’s chest.
“Consider this a gift from us.”
I throw the grenade into the trees. On its detonation I hear screams.
They deserve it, I feel no remorse.
“Get up boys, you know I always handle these situations.” I say with a grin.
The grunts get up, cautiously and one by one. Trainee is the last to stand up. He looks uneasy. Without any notice he hunches over and pukes.
“What, you don’t like your congs shredded?” Biggs laughs, somewhat maniacally.
“This is unacceptable, they’re people too. Can’t you see that you goddamned meatheads.” Trainee says, all color flooding from his face.
“Excuse me?” I stare at him with daggers in my eyes.
“I saved your life and this is how you thank me? You ungrateful son of a bitch.”
I grab Trainee by his collar and force him to the ground, right next to one of the half dead Viet Congs.
“This could’ve been you grunt, this could’ve been you. If it wasn’t for me this goddamn would’ve been you. Do you understand you maggot?”
I press my boot into his back. He whimpers.
“Answer me you piece of shit, answer me!”
Hog and Alpine pull me back.
“It isn’t worth it, he’s one of us. He was forced here just like you” Hog says, his voice frantic yet gruff and stern.
“Hell, I might have been forced here but this is our life now. You need to start realizing that we’re worth more than them. We need to survive. Y’all don’t appreciate what I do for this squadron, I am the backbone, without me y'all are nothing. You would all be dead. You hear me?”
I lift my M60 off the ground and begin storming off. I stomp the head of the Viet Cong closest to Trainee.
“I’ll kill every last one of them, every last one of them you hear.”
...
Sweat drips from every pore. I try to wipe it off my brow to no avail. It keeps storming down my face. Is it the heat? Is it the anxiety? It doesn't matter. I need to stay sharp, level headed. We all are, we always are. They could come at any time, we’ll be ready. We always are. I collect my thoughts and check my magazine. Not a bullet missing, just like it was two minutes ago. I look to my left, sand, to my right, sand. Nothing but desert surrounds us...
...Three hours have passed. We’re still marching in the middle of nowhere, goal nowhere in sight. My legs grow weary, my head heavy. My fellow Marines are starting to wear, glad to see it isn’t just me.
“Keep treading on soldiers, we’ll reach our objective soon enough.”
The Sergeant’s voice sounds morose, even he’s given up hope. I check my gear, what’s loose I tighten, what’s tight I loosen. I adjust my helmet, my plate carrier, and my gloves. The coarse sand is everywhere. It coats my eyes, lines my throat, and covers my arms. I would be annoyed, but I’m too fatigued...
...The sun gets hotter and hotter with each passing moment. I check my canteen, bone dry. I look toward the horizon, nothing but desert. Every pound of gear on my body gets heavier and heavier. My legs feel like gelatine and my back burns. I cannot bear the weight for much longer...
...Finally the sun begins its descend on the horizon. The extreme heat begins to die down, but the unforgiving cold will soon take over my body. Before the sky turns black I see something in the distance, maybe two miles away. How did I not notice it sooner? Hopefully I am not seeing things, hopefully it's actually there...
...My fellow soldiers look horrible. Their skin is red, spotted with black and blue bruises. Their eyes are bloodshot with a thick sandy film. Their eyes have never looked so empty. These men have lost the only thing you can have out here, hope. We keep treading forward, I no longer see that something in the distance. All we can do is continue...
...The night sky in the desert, there’s nothing like it. Back in the states the bright lights ruin it all. Here you can see everything. It’s unbelievable. There are swirls of blue, gold, and white with glowing yellow stars littered all over.
I can’t believe such beauty exists in this hellscape. We can’t take three steps without being bombarded, unless we’re stranded in the middle of the desert and are wandering aimlessly for hours...
...With every ounce of energy we can muster, our slow crawl becomes a run. We begin shedding our equipment, first helmet, then packs, then plate carriers. I slam my body against the door and begin to claw. A Marine opens the door.
“Sir, we have a situation.”
Three Marines exit the house. One by one they begin carrying us into the building.
“You boys have been through some shit...”
...My torso shoots upward. I feel my heart bursting through my chest. I start coughing, I can’t stop coughing. My body starts shaking. I try to get posture up but I fall to my side. I continue to cough.
“Jesus Christ, calm down soldier, breathe.” I hear a rough voice.
A large gray man takes a seat by my side. His face is square, with a large square jaw, and sharp defined cheekbones. His brow is wide and stern. He looks like a military action figure. A rough and tough perfect soldier.
“Ye, yes sir.” I reply my voice shaky and dry.
“Wh.. where are the others? Are they okay?” I ask.
“They’re in the same place as you. Dehydrated and exhausted. A transport is on route to our location. It’ll take you and your friends back to base. It’s not safe for injured here.”
“Understood...”
...The ground is quaking and I hear an engine roar. Sounds like the transport. A group of soldiers enter my room. They help me up and we walk to the transport. They sit me down and go back into the house to get the others.
I can finally see the light of hope in the darkness. The building is a house, a small unasuming house. Looks like it was abandoned by its owner and repurposed by Marines. Its sandy, old, creaky, but looks effective. It keeps our uniform camoflagued in the warzone.
This could actually end up being okay.
A boom of gunfire litters the air. It’s close, but I don’t know for certain how close it is. I hear a soldier call out location. I need a rifle, I need to help. I open the tailgate of the transport and jump down. I find my face buried in the dirt. I try to pull my body back up but my legs aren’t strong enough. I try to get up once more, I’m successful this time. I stumble toward the house and try to explain the situation.
“We already know soldier, get back into the transport, now.”
I don’t listen. I grasp my carbine and hold it close to my chest. Another soldier tries to grab it from me, I don’t let him. I back outside. I feel a bit more level headed now, I’m no longer disoriented or dizzy. The other Marines rush outside.
“Get into the transport now, that’s an order.” My Sergeant has a bandage wrapped around his head. He’s in the worst situation of us all.
I refuse to listen and hold my position. If they come our way they will be stopped. I refuse to let my fellow Marines die, not after what we just went through.
...
I wrote these stories to show that every war at its core is the same. Every soldier in every war is living in the same hell as the people before them. They may experience the hellscape differently, but it’s all the same amount terrible. I used primary sources in each story, mostly pulling from history books that I own. I also used stereotypes shown in movies to show how each is perceived by the public. I tried to combine stereotypes and attributes that are contrary. Modern soldiers are seen as super heroes, yet they have weaknesses and face anxiety. Soldiers in WWII are seen as drones, yet they were still people with complex emotions and worries.