Letters home

He held the pen in his hand, paper at the ready. The shelling had slowed as darkness fell and the light of the lantern shone like hope in the night. His thoughts roamed back to Thanksgiving dinner at the home table. Laughter and family and the table groaning under the weight of the feast. If he closed his eyes, he could see the faces of his dear ones gathered around.

“Incoming!” Someone yelled out from a few yards away. He ducked. The bomb made impact a few feet away. The dust settled slowly.

He put the pen to the paper.

(for 5-29) Blood and War

He rushed to her tent. Dropping to one knee as he entered, he knelt, gasping for breath. 

She whirled around, her hair twisting about her, her leather armor clinging to her figure, every inch looking the queen she was. 

“What? What is it?” she demanded coldly. 

The man couldn’t reply for a moment as he struggled to breathe 

“H-He’s here. He fell in battle. Our soldiers guard him now.” 

She stalked over to her table, where her blood colored sword threw red into her face, turning her blue eyes red. She gripped the sword, smiling.

“I will kill him.” 

5.16.12 The Truth

I think my desk is oak.  Or mahogany.  Or cherry birch?

My pen has black ink and red.  Sometimes I like to change things up.
My work is rather boring.

I have so many speeches.

So many people to convince that war is best.

I dream I am safe.  At home.  In your arms.

I sleep with the sound of bullets in my ears.  Falling debris is a constant rain.
My face is never clean.

I lie without a bed.  The sand is my pillow.  I clutch my pistol close.

I know the truth.

This breath could be my last.

5.12.12 On the Shuttle to Nowheresville

We briefed before takeoff.  Just like in training.

I had never flown before; blood pounded in my head when we lifted.

(I gripped the seat like a kid, I admit).  The cities were tiny lights lost in black.

This was it.  This is what I wanted.  To be a soldier ready to save the world.

A grand adventure.

But now we’ve landed and I see the truth.  It’s barren all around us.  A desert. 

No markings, no life.  I ask myself what exactly am I here for?

This is war, my friends.  Far from home and death my new companion.

5.10.12 Urgent Earth

Def-unit0345

 mushroom in sky. please confirm attack.

Def-unit0345

awaiting confirmation

Def-unit0345

24 hour silence. assuming command.  awaiting communication

Def-unit0345

fallout inevitable. preparing for radiation sickness.

Def-unit0345

 mass death.  please respond.

Def-unit0345

need food.  send help.  respond.

Def-unit0345

3 month comm silence. no food. water contaminated. respond.

            Def-unit0345

radiation poison.  No meds. help. respond.

                                RESPOND Command-001

                                sorry for delay.  attack confirmed.

Def-unit0345

where is aid. urgent. urgent.

                                RESPOND Command-001

                                negative. transportation destroyed.  no aid.

Def-unit0345

was defeat accepted

        RESPOND Command-001

        negative. no defeat. world lost

Def-unit0345

affirm operation rebuild

                                RESPOND Command-001

        negative.  nothing left.  you’re it.

        best of luck.  signing off.

5.30.11 Death of the Young

She sat on the sofa, holding her husband’s hand. In her other hand she clenched a tissue so hard it was turning to paper shreds. Two military men in immaculate uniforms were slowly telling her the story she had dreaded since the moment her son had told her he was joining the marines.

“His helicopter went down during the rescue operation…”

She stopped listening; she couldn’t bear to hear anymore. All she could see was the little boy with the missing teeth. The little boy who had hardly become a man was dead before he had a chance to live.

5.30.11 Memorial Day

The man slipped into his grey uniform and cap and a shadow came over his face. So many painful memories flooded into his mind.

Memories of the field in which they had fought, side-by-side, through the long hours of the day.
Memories of the gunshots, the screams, of the hard gun pressed against his back, forcing him to go into the cell.
Memories of the cold floor, where he sat, alone, waiting for any sign of life, of a rescuer.

Those were hard, cold, awful memories, but he pushed them aside.

It was Memorial Day, a time to celebrate.

He had survived.

5.15.11 Not What It Seems

With all of the horrid accounts circulating nowadays, you would think that wars were fought in grey places with misty mellow hills and skies stuck in some intermediate place between sun and dark. You would think there would be gloomy clouds and frigid weather, blowing winds and freezing rain. Perhaps fog that lies upon the ground waiting to choke someone. Perhaps overhanging bushes reaching out snag preoccupied stragglers. Perhaps war is one never ending night with stars no longer shining. Perhaps there is no light.

But no.

I’m fighting in the same sunshine that the children play in back home.

5.12.11 A Deadly Crash

“Delta, Able, Bravo…” a hissing sound accompanied the panicked words that transmitted over the radio.

“Captain!” the radio operator called. “Our fighter plane is going down! He’s yelling the code!”

The captain shook his head as the plane whizzed before his eyes. Suddenly it dropped, crumpling in a heap on the grass.

The captain and the entire Air Force knelt by the wreck and peered at the plastic figurine standing in as the pilot. He lay sprawled on the ground just inches from his flimsy aircraft of old cereal box.

The captain pointed a grubby finger. “Yup, he’s definitely dead.”

5.9.11 Whisper Thy Last

They had ridden for hours in the cold and freezing rain. They were Londoners, city folk, and the New England marshes were a curse to be reckoned with. But hope lay ahead; just past the slippery trees, light glimmered in the distance.
“Boston,” Lieutenant Matthews called back to his comrade. “General Gage will be glad to hear the news we bring. It’s just a little further now.”
A shot rang through the trees.
With a thud the other soldier fell.
Matthews twisted around, reaching for his saber.
“Hold right there,” a Yankee voice called. “No one’s going to Boston tonight.”

5.4.11 This is War

The roar of engines filled his ears coupling with the incessant whir of the propellers. The sky was black. Despite the frigid temperature of the cockpit, sweat covered his face and dripped down his neck. He was breathing hard. Images of crumbled buildings and dislodged persons filled his mind. Burning walls, bombed out shelters, trackless trains, crying children. “This is war, and war kills.” His comrade’s words echoed through his ears.

There were flashes down below; the anti-aircraft guns had been discharged.

The aeroplanes moved into formation.

“Bombs away!” Destruction would fall on foreign soil.

Germany would have to pay.