The poem I am linking to my story is ‘Bayonet Charge’.
As he lay there tossing and turning, you could see the dream etched across his forehead and the pain streaming down his face. The sweat he was exuding formed a moist patch surrounding his torso. The ache in his body that has been formed through the years of pain and distress was evermore apparent
as he lay there numb. This was however not the case in his mind. The battles he was facing were far larger then those that loomed on the surface. As he awoke the puddle of sweat swarmed down him and he broke down into tears. Then he stopped. It was if a simple thought of recognition to his outside surroundings suddenly hit him. Although his thoughts that tore him to shreds flew in and out of his ominous mind, there was almost a peace and calm which fluctuated and rose out of him. All this time he was running away from his fears but now he realised he must face them. He must stand up tall and with a purpose.
It was a dark, humid evening when I was out on patrol, we had a long day fighting the Taliban and were heading back to the so called ‘safe zone’. The morale among my fellow soldiers was low, we had nothing left to offer. We were sitting in the truck in an abysmal state, then we stopped. There was a commotion outside and a dialect of Arabic was shouting in our direction. That’s when the gunfire started. We jumped out of the truck and took shelter behind it. There were bullets flying over our head. They were close. I shot back in anger and that’s when it happened. It was if time had frozen, my friend, the one who was there for me throughout everything, gone in a flash. I could taste the fear growing in my mouth, slowly travelling down the length of my throat, into the pit of my stomach where the butterflies currently fluttered their wings ferociously. Now it was just me and my thoughts. Am I really making a difference? Who am I really fighting for? But the biggest question that posed in my mind was what the hell am I doing here? The bullets continued to fly over me, Then it hit me. Yes I am making a difference, I’m here to fight for my country and all the people at home that are relying on me to return, to provide for them, hearing their voices of undying love scrolling around my head, keeping me going, keeping me alive. That’s when the bullets stopped, they were retreating. But why? I cautiously went to inspect the aftermath. I took 3 steps and after that it was just a flash. Every night I relive this dream, waking up, trying to run away from reality, which is quite ironic because I won’t be running away from anything, nor walking nor crawling.
The hospital corridors stench of bleach travelled through the room that gave the air a feel of despair. The doctor continued his tests on the depleted soldier, you could tell by his submission that there was no hope for this young fighter. It was not just his legs that left him when the IED exploded, but his mind and his soul too. A man’s dream gone in a literal flash. This lasted a couple of weeks before the Doctor noticed a change. The young soldiers mind set was different. Yes the dreams still continued but he woke up determined, not crying. This was no longer a lost soul in a war zone, This was a dedicated man ready to make a change in his life, for the better of not only himself but everyone around him, that single flash may have changed his life temporarily, but the soldier inside will live on forever.
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