Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Four days as a soldier

Joining the Tamarac Forces just sort of happened. I was on the island working construction on a bridge while the war was brewing. We finished a bridge on Friday, and I was going home Sunday. On Saturday the Tamaracs moved in, and I literally got swept up in the supply chain. Here were brave men, precise and disciplined, marching to put their lives on the line to defend us. I started walking with one of the wagons, and asked if I could help. "Sure," a guy said, and handed me the bag he'd been carrying. "Weird", I thought, and random, but suddenly, I was part of it!

Over the next few days, I helped fill sandbags, dig trenches, and fill more sandbags. At one point a sergeant asked me sharply why I wasn't in uniform. I said I had just joined, and hadn't been issued one. He asked me my name, and an hour later, a PFC marched up and handed me the brown and blue. No rank, but there was my name on the breast pocket, along with Tamarac, H. Co. I hoped it would fit, since my chest was swelling with pride.

I performed the randommest assortment of jobs I'd ever done in my life; I guess no rank made me lowest man, and everyone gave me orders. I was only too happy to comply, and got to see bits of all sorts of operations. "Good thing I'm not a spy," I thought.

By Tuesday, things were really kicking into high gear. Word had come in that the Ren-Paj were on their way, and we weren't quite as ready as we'd hoped we'd be by that point. But the army is good at stepping up the pace, and "on-the-double!" became "on-the-triple!" before you could salute. I got a good assignment that day; delivering a message to Captain Chase on the Western front. That was, of course where the Ren-Paj were supposed to be coming from, so I was excited and nervous about getting closer to the real action. They'd even given me a side arm to carry. I was a good woodsman, (or marshman, as the case was, here), and got to the camp by mid afternoon. I saluted, showed the message, and then I was done. I debated hanging around, but I'd made some friends in Hotel Company, so I started back.

I was about a mile out when I started to hear shooting. I started really booking it, and soon heard shouting too. One more grove of trees, and I could see. But what was I seeing? I could see where our trenches were, and I could see lots of people in brown and blue shooting at each other, but I had no clue who was who, or where the battle lines were. It looked like a backyard water-gun fight, except people were really dying. I started to shake, and began to understand why training was so important for a soldier. Even if I could have figured out who to shoot at, I don't think I could have hit the broad side of a barn. But I was here now, and I'd be damned if I was going to run, or hide.

I started to crawl forward. My eyes aren't the best, and I hoped once I got in closer I might be able to figure out who was who. I got to an old bridge, all overgrown with vines, enough that I could crawl along it without being exposed. Just as I started across, still on my belly, and soldier came pounding pell-mell up the bridge from the other side. He was wearing a Tamarac uniform, but he was weilding an unfamiliar gun. I use the term weilding loosely, since he was firing apparently indescriminantly in all directions, while running. If he'd hit anyone, it was pure lucky chance. Apparently it was an automatic weapon, because when he reached the peak of the bridge he held down the trigger and started a traversing arc. "Shit!" I thought, "it's coming this way!" I pulled my gun out, but I still wasn't sure which side he was on. I debated just putting my head down and hoping his shots would go over me, or that someone else would shoot him, which had to happen soon, since he was standing, completely exposed in the middle of the bridge. I tried this, but then I really couldn't see what was happening, and started shaking even more. I peeked, and saw that his arc was getting closer to me. "Fuck it," I thought, "it's going to be him or me." I lined up my shot, but as I lifted my head to get a better view, his arc finally came around.

Time slowed down. I used to think that was just a figure of speech, but I honestly think it did slow down--either that, or I have a more vivid imagination than I thought, because suddenly I could see his bullet coming towards me. It was just a tiny, bright speck, but surrounded by a balloon of warped air, like heat waves over a campfire. Too bad my body couldn't move as fast as my brain or I could literally have ducked out of the way. As it was, I must have somehow pulled my trigger, because I saw a second bullet, travelling the other way, toward his head.

His one-in-hundreds lucky shot was better than mine though. The bullet went in my neck, taking out my left jugular and windpipe, and exiting between my shoulder blades. (I know, because I could feel it. It didn't hurt though.) The last thing I saw was my bullet ruffling his hair as it missed.