Jump
I'm tired of my scarred forearm and bloods familiar sickly smell of thick metal. The chafe on my shoulders and a pinched lower back. Too many jarring flights in the dark on slightly padded metal seats. I do the unthinkable and glance across the night before me. I see the lost. Not the smiling youth I knew years before. Their faces are hidden in a bath of red light. This is the true living dead. Those that sacrifice all for their lovers. Not for country. My mind adds the faces of those that have looked my way and have been afraid. The memory of my little girl hugging her mom because her daddy wanted to say goodbye yet once again. One boot before the other soldier I told myself. Before I have my final and very brief argument with God almighty I will keep as many people safe as I can. It's what I tell myself. For the countless time I check my equipment. I wonder how much of it was made in China.
The lights change and it's time once again.
The first several jumps take your stomach. Later on it's a momentary thing.
I never thought of the cold night air and a bright moon less than magic though.
I can see the tape on their helmets. It's my responsibility to keep track of them. So many things.
I awake not knowing why I'm spitting mud. I push up with my hands in the cold wet gravel and I can hear shouting. On one knee I turn my head right in time to see a figure raise a rifle and with a flash shoot into the brush. I release my harness and make my way left and as I go around to flank I take my knife and come behind the attacker. Like in a dream my knife goes in and up as I was taught. Two flashes from his rifle but nothing can be seen but vegetation.
I hunker down and move to the side. All is quiet.
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