Sting of War: A Soldier’s Chronicle

The earth is cold and the darkness is slowly creeping in chasing the daylight away. No moon tonight and only the stars will lend us light enough to see shadows move. The endless valley will soon be nothing but a limbo of endless darkness. I’m lying in a dugout trench hiding from those who have eyes that see at night, gadgets that would put the eyes of an owl to shame. We were in this hole for one whole week now since we relieved the company who took over this battlefield. Now the enemies have retaliated and are succeeding to take over this so called frontline. They’ve already established a foothold in the valley and have taken over almost all of our foxholes.

A bullet whined above my head. I felt something hit my face. No it’s not a bullet. It’s warm liquid. When I looked beside me, there lies my comrade. He was my friend since we started to fight. He saved me once when he shot a man who tried to kill me. Not in battle but in a brawl when a soldier of the other side made fun of my family and tried to shoot me for being the race I am. That enemy’s blood was splattered all over me, now it’s my friend’s blood that is all over me. Nineteen-year-old soldier whose fate was sealed by the enemy’s bullets.

Then I saw the enemy aiming at me. I ducked in time to save my head. I raised my gun and squeezed the trigger of my rifle. I saw him stumble to the ground. One of his comrades knelt beside him in shock. He cursed and sprayed his rifle to my direction. I shot him too. I am a better shooter than him and it saved my life.

Then I also knelt beside my friend calling out his name hoping he will answer. He is not moving and I know I lost him. I just sat there inside our hole staring at his face hoping for a miracle that he would move somehow. But he was just lying there staring at nothing like the rest of the men around him who are no longer fighting, their bodies torn by bullets and grenades. So I just sat there and stared.

All of the men in my squad are not fighting anymore. One was shot through his helmet and died instantly. Another was shot in the chest but still shooting. It needed several of the enemy’s bullets to stop him from killing more of them. Our trench is silent now. Nobody is firing back. Soon I would be like them too. Footsteps are coming closer. Soon it would be my time. My rifle won’t help me anymore so I just stared at my friend and waited for my time.

A shadow and then another looked into our hole. I did not dare look at my executioners. I just stared at my friend waiting for the bullet that will end my miserable life. But it did not come. I looked up and the human shapes were gone. The night is so still that the ticking of my watch is as loud as the retreating footsteps that are slowly fading. As the minutes passed, the sounds of gunshots also seem to be fading. Several moments ago, artillery seemed to explode just above my head. But now the sounds of war too are scared of the coming darkness. In a few more minutes, everything is blackness and the gunshots are barely audible.

I took my friends diary from his pocket as he always told me to do. He wanted his mother to know how he had lived his life, his very short life that was torn by hatred between two races. His father was killed by the same people who sent him to war. Not because his father was a spy but because he doesn’t want to join the war. So they executed him the way they execute murderers and thieves. Now my friend is dead too because he joined the war.

I laid my friend next to his rifle and closed his eyes with my bloodied hand. Took the rest of his remaining bullets and placed them in my pockets and attacked the blackness of the night. The darkness will cover my escape and I must make it to my people before the enemies send soldiers to occupy our vacated trenches. My heart is aching for the hundreds of bodies lying around. Just a few days ago, we are all alive laughing about what to do with our lives when the war is over.

A movement nearby caught my attention and dived to the ground. I aimed my rifle but the movement did not present a threat. A man was moaning and crawling on the ground. I stood up and followed him. With the light of the stars I could see his wounded legs. He saw me too and tried to raise his rifle and aim at me but he was too weak.

I knelt beside him and his face was a shock to me for I saw the face of my friend, the same age and eyes but wearing different uniform. I almost swear they are brothers. For a moment we just stared at each other. Then I just felt my hands holding my medical kit. I tore his pants and cleaned his wounds and used all of my bandages to cover it. I sat him beside a tree and gave him my water and his rifle. I left him to the mercy of the night hoping he will be found by his comrades before he bleeds to death.

At midnight, I found the rest of my company. They stared at me like ghosts who saw another ghost. White faces turned black from ashes of gunpowder and mud, torn from running away from the enemy’s pursuing artillery. They are surprised to see one of their own still alive from the front line. At times like this, front liners don’t usually make it through. Then maybe it was luck if there is such a thing.

In the dead of the night, we walked slowly and silently avoiding all possible locations of our superior enemies. A suspicious sound would send us scattering and hugging the grounds for cover. I can no longer move my feet because of hunger. When I last ate, I can’t remember. We now have to climb a hill. Half way I tried to raise my knees but they are so weak. I fell to the ground. How I just wish to sleep. The cold night is inviting me to just give it up and lie here forever. Two men grabbed me to help me stand. “No, no. just leave me here” my mind is saying but I cannot say the words. Gently they tried to lift me up. “Common” one of them is saying. “We have to move fast, this place isn’t safe yet.”

I struggled to stand and was able to walk with the support of another soldier. Why won’t he just leave me here and save his life? I’m just a burden and slow them down. One man could be a reason for their massacre. Just leave me here. One after the other, my feet moved and we made slow progress but we are all moving. The wounded are being carried or helped by stronger soldiers. One died along the way but his friend refuses to just leave him behind. So he carried him constantly resting. His progress made our move even slower but still the rest of our men did not complain. We just walked and no longer worried about the noises we made. Enemies may hear us a mile across but noise discipline is now the least of our worries. We are now in our own territory but that doesn’t mean we are safe. We just hope our comrade snipers scattered around will recognize us in the dark and refrain from shooting.

In the morning, we were picked by our convoy of APCs. We made it to our headquarters; we’re given foods, new supply of ammunitions and medicines. The wounded were taken to the infirmary moaning in pain. I was assigned to a new commander since my last one is resting eternally in that cold valley.

We are ordered to retake the frontlines while the enemies haven’t fully established their positions and prevent them from advancing further. We rested from morning till late in the afternoon, taken our early dinner and started our journey back on trucks. Half way we met more of our men coming from the battle, many are wounded on stretchers or being helped by comrades. Some look dead but they are being carried along anyway. Then we continued our journey back on foot.

At dawn we reached the battlefield. Our snipers were successful in keeping the enemies from establishing their positions in our valley. Upon arriving there, we’ve been ordered to follow our commander’s strategy, something we didn’t like much. All he wanted is to retake the frontline and doesn’t care how many of us are sacrificed. For him, it’s more logical to sacrifice the few of us than to sacrifice our entire race, the so-called minority. To him, that’s the only way for our survival. With lots of our comrades dying, we braved the battlefields and took care of the enemies’ foxholes one by one. By morning, we were able to retake most of the fox holes. Our enemies, the superior race that wanted to wipe us out are sent scampering away, for now. Our death toll, however, are higher than that of the enemies. By night time, the valley is ours once again.

By dawn the next day, we were relieved by another company to keep the frontlines secured. We were allowed to get a rest for two days. We made another arduous trek back to our headquarters with our wounded and dead comrades.

Days and weeks passed and our lives revolved around that valley we call frontline, a valley full of death where even our comrades may die from the landmines that we had planted. If we lose control over that small valley, the enemy will be able to create roads for their tanks and rid the valley of mines. That will be a big blow for our survival.

Our supply kept coming and doesn’t seem to run out. Maybe we do have supporters from other countries as we were told. People who do seem to care about our existence that they don’t want us wiped out. I wonder why they don’t come over and help us fight the racists. Or were they just having fun watching us fight against each other? Can they gain something from our wars? It seems unlikely that our war will give those supporters anything in return. But could it be possible that they donate the weapons for us to become a stronger opponent so they could sell to the racists more powerful weapons.

Or perhaps, the rumor is true that people from rich countries donate to poorer or the so-called third world as aid and that will be deducted from their taxes. And only fraction of those declared deductions reached its intended recipients. But maybe that fraction is what’s keeping us alive. Whether our funds are coming from opportunists, real philanthropists or people evading taxes, I thank them for helping us survive.

I keep calling my enemies racists but perhaps on the other side that’s what they call us too. Maybe we were the ones who started the grudge. Maybe it’s our ancestors who betrayed them first that started this fight and it goes on and on until one’s descendant is erased from this planet. Then somewhere along the way another brother will deceive his brother starting another feud that will last till only one is left standing. I started reading all of the books in our headquarter library to find the answers hoping history will help me understand our eternal feuds.

It would seem that every feud in history was settled in wars. Even in the Bible, a rivalry between families may have started the enmity between the Jews and the Palestinians and Arabs. Ishmael who is the son of Abraham to Hagar is believed to be the forefathers of the Palestinians and Arabs. And Isaac who is the son of Abraham to Sarah was the father of the Israelites. Because of the rivalry of the two women over who is more favored, Hagar and Ishmael were banished. Their rivalry started a feud that affected the entire Middle East and Israel in the past. And it was reignited again when the country of Israel was formed and deceptions and cruel tactics from both sides escalated a hatred that affected peace throughout the world.

Another start of war was when the Moslems waged wars against their neighbors and their relatives to establish Islam. Even his own tribe didn’t believe in him but, eventually, Mohammad achieved dominance. Within a few decades of his death in 632 C.E., Islam had spread as far as Afganistan and Tunisia in North Africa. After 50 years, Islam has penetrated Spain and France. A staggering achievement for an Arabian prophet living in the sixth and seventh century, starting a new civilization that will soon become the second fastest growing religion. And yet feud existed amongst themselves between the Sunni and the Shiites over the real successor of Muhammad after his death. The Sunni accepted the principle of elective office rather than blood descent from the prophet. The Shiites believe that true leadership comes through the prophet’s bloodline. But Sunnis murdered the lineage of Muhammad, thus starting feuds amongst the Muslims.

The so called Christians themselves have lots of reasons to wage wars. The most famous of them all are to convert the pagan nations into their beliefs and murder the non-believers. Millions had been killed during the Crusades. They were only defeated when Saladin declared a holy war that united all Arab nations. And then the Christians also had differences amongst themselves that created feuds and millions were persecuted and murdered. Until recently, Catholics and Protestants had been fighting each other in the name of religion even thought they have similar beliefs created in 4th century by Constantine. The doctrines were created in favor of the Holy Roman Empire basically for political purposes. But their slight differences in doctrines are enough for them to fight each other.

The Mongols, simple tent dwelling tribes, waged wars against China, Persia up to Hungary just to increase their territory. Japan waged wars against Korea, China and the entire Southeast Asia with the same reason. England, Spain, Portugal and many other European countries did likewise. Same with the ancient history of Rome, Greece and Persia; all for bigger territory.

Those were their reasons to wage wars and kill other human beings. Our war doesn’t have those reasons. My people had been fighting our battle for so long now and I still don’t know when it all started. We simply kill each other because our race is different from theirs. We kill them because they want to kill us. For us to survive is to kill them all.

Our world is so different from the world I see on the television during my periods of rests. They always advertise useless gadgets and equipments. High tech cell phones that’s worth thousands of dollars, exquisite cars and lots of other expensive items. Present those to my comrades over a 10 dollar sharp knife and they would choose the cheaper knife. We go for items where we can depend our lives on. Perhaps in the other part of this world, life depended on those exquisite items.

I was only 15 when I got into this war. Our city was attacked to be cleansed of our race. My father was killed saving us. I had to escape on foot. I was separated from my mother and younger brothers. That was the last time I saw them. I walked the streets at night avoiding people. Walking the streets is like walking in a cemetery. The names of the avenues are named after dead people, dead heroes and martyrs. And they were also piling up with dead people.

I managed to leave the City but I was caught in the borders. The enemies ordered us to bury our dead. They ordered us to dig a hole, not a small hole but a big one. Their bulldozers could have easily dug this big hole for them but they somehow enjoyed watching us dig it ourselves. We know that this will become our grave so we thought of escaping. When there was a break in the guard’s rank, some tried to make it to the woods. But machineguns took many of them. I was hoping many have survived.

From this confusion I managed to hide myself among the dead. By the truckload they started bringing the dead from the City. Many of those still alive are lined up on the edge of the hole we dug. Then they were all executed.

I just closed my eyes as their screams filled my ears. That was the time I wished for a miracle, that the hero I dreamed about will burn the enemies with fire in his eyes. But that did not happen and thousands of my countrymen died just because they have a different race.

I can’t remember how long I was in that position but the dead kept coming and more alive prisoners were killed. When the soldiers left for the night, I waited a few more hours before I left. I slowly crawled through the dead bodies until I reached the edge of the woods. I run as fast as I can. To where, I don’t know. When my tired feet can barely carry my tired body, I knelt to the ground and wept silently. I felt like a coward who did not fight those who massacred my people. I wanted to go back and find the body of my father, or my mother and younger siblings if they’re dead too. But I did not dare. I was a coward. I stood up and walked to nowhere.

Then I saw a house and suddenly felt very hungry. But there were no lights. It was a farm house. I wanted to knock but I fear for this could be a house of another enemy. I went to their barn walking slowly not to wake any animals, most especially dogs.

I found the chicken house and saw some eggs. I took them all, 4 of them hoping they were freshly laid by its hen. They were. I took them away and run back into the forest while dogs started to bark. Lights were lit and faces peeped out of the windows but I’m already away.

I managed to drink the contents of the eggs and fell asleep of extreme fatigue. In the morning I was awaken by a cold steel in my head. The man was speaking the language of the enemy; he was asking if I was the one who stole his eggs. I begged him to let me work it out with him for payment. He took me in and gave me some food and told me to run away before soldiers come to his house.

I run to the direction he told me where I can find my people. I crossed several miles in the bitter winter. The next day I reached a village of my people. The place is a ghost town, no one seem to stir. They are all living in fear. I knocked on a few doors begging for food but they just closed them back. An enemy has helped me but my own people don’t want to do anything with me.

At last one door opened but he did not invite me in. He handed me some bread and told me he doesn’t have much left for his family. He told me of a military barracks not far from the village. I thanked him and walked away.

At the barracks I decided to apply but they did not want to take me because I was too young. I persisted to stay and be fed by them. They gave up and included me in the recruitment. I was sent to the headquarters almost a days travel, hidden in the forests, the beginning of my struggle to avenge my family.

After a year I was as popular as the rest for my skills. I am a good shot. Few more months, I was reassigned to the headquarters to fight in the frontlines. That’s where I will stay for a long time.

It’s been a month now since I miraculously survived the annihilation of my squad. I’ve survived this far and soon I will turn twenty. I had been in this war all throughout my teenage years. Now I’m becoming an adult and probably spend the rest of my short life in war.

In front of our main building stands a statue of a legendary general who was the founder of the resistance. Such a beautiful sculpture created by someone who probably has nothing else better to do. How could someone spend so many days to create such an intricate sculpture? Crazy or not, his creation became the most important symbol in our headquarters.

It’s to him that we salute everyday to thank for our survival. To some people, they worship things, some just symbols. The greatest symbol ever created perhaps was the establishment of the cross as a symbol of faith by Christendom. The first Christians did not use the cross but when Rome claimed the religion, they have established a series of doctrines in 333 to the 400 AD to create the biggest religion ever made. A simple design that has become the world’s most popular symbol, ironically established by the very people who have persecuted the first Christians.

If my people will survive, will they also carry this symbol of a great general to tell the world of our reason of survival? Maybe this statue will soon be buried in this very mountain and will never become a great symbol like the cross.

But whatever will be the fate of this statue, it’s what gives my people courage. I stood erect and gave my salutation.

The frontline belongs to the enemy once again. But this time we were ordered to take back a village and save the people taken hostage before they are all executed. In this mission, we may not survive. We prepared to attack at night. Night goggles were given to few. Not enough for all of us but I’m lucky to have one, a favor given to crack shots. I was also given a new weapon, a sniper riffle that goes with my assault rifle. The scope’s red color somehow gave me some relief. That means I don’t have to join the assault close to the frontline. That means I have bigger chance to survive.

We boarded our APCs and heed to the village. After almost a day’s travel we reached our observation point on top of a hill, near the abandoned barracks where I was recruited years ago. There I scanned the familiar valley, the same village that didn’t want anything to do with me when I was asking for food. Everything looks so still below. No movements can be seen. They are all hiding in fear of bullets from our snipers.

At dawn we attacked, the assault teams went from door to door looking for an enemy who’s still alive. Shots are fired at random. The house the enemies used as quarters went up in big explosion. My team was scattered around with our scopes scanning the area for reinforcements, our shots too are being fired at random. They found the hostages in one big house and my team started to advance. Our assignment now is to protect the village from another assault.

From somewhere I saw a movement. He’s moving slowly, maybe one of my team. I aimed my rifle at him just to be certain. As he gets closer his face was slowly illuminated. I saw the face of my dead friend; it was the enemy that I saved days, weeks… no a month ago. As he got closer, he was startled to see me pointing my rifle. He didn’t bother to raise his gun, he knew he’s lost. I walked to him and smiled. I lowered my rifle and he just stared in disbelief. Maybe he recognized me or maybe just wondering why I am not ending his life. I was about to tell him to run when all of a sudden he raised his gun and squeezed the trigger.

I fell to the ground, my mind slow to comprehend what just took place. There was no pain at first then slowly I began to long for air. I have to breathe harder. I need more air. My brain is telling me my lung is collapsing. I want to scream for help but no sound can come out. I looked around for the shooter but he’s gone. It’s getting colder now. I believe this is what a dying man feels.

So this is how it all ends, all alone in cold dirt and no one to cry for me. Your life flashes back to you just before you die they say. But nothing is flashing back. Just a question that’s playing endlessly in my mind, why do I have to die by the hand of the man I saved once? Whatever the answer, I will never know.

People always say there’s still hope while you’re still breathing. This probably is the only situation that it doesn’t apply. For where can you find hope where death abounds? Death is the end. But is it true that we go to heaven after death? Or perhaps live again as a different being? Is there resurrection? If I do live again, will it be better than here?

Why do I care? I don’t have a choice anyway? And if there’s a God, does he enjoy watching us people fight each other over race, religion and territory? It all ends now and I don’t want to care anymore. I just closed my eyes hoping it will end painlessly.

A sound. Am I dead yet? No, I can still hear gunfire in the distance. I’m still alive and someone is moving around. I opened my eyes and saw a shadow coming. Did the shooter came back to finish his job? No it’s unlikely, he is already far if he managed to bypass our assault teams, he’ll make it to his comrades. This is another person. I struggled to aim my rifle but I cannot squeeze the trigger. The shadow just stared at me pointing his rifle to my head. I just lowered my rifle and closed my eyes waiting for the shot that will end it all.

What is he doing? He took my rifle away from my hands. I felt his hands opened my coat. I opened my eyes and saw him clearly up close. He’s one of the enemies and he’s brought out gauze bandages from my own med kit. Why is he looking at my wounds? He opened my bloodied uniform and pressed his ear to my chest listening to my breathing. He took out a long hypodermic needle and inserted it into my chest. The penetrating needle is excruciating, more painful than the bullet, which I didn’t even feel. I can hear a hissing sound and felt relieved. I can breathe now. He took my left hand and placed my finger over the outer end of the needle and spoke to me clearly in my own language. “Just cover it with your finger. The air pressure builds every 15 minutes. Release it then cover it back up again.” He put gauze bandages over my wounds and placed my right hand over it. “Press here to minimize the bleeding. Your comrades will find you soon,” he said and scurried away with my rifle.

So was I wrong? There really is hope in a place of death? I can breath easy now but I am too weak. I’ve lost a lot of blood and all I want is to sleep. But I can’t sleep now. What happens if I don’t cover this syringe? I’ve depended all my life with my gun to survive. It’s so ironic that all I needed to survive now is just a syringe needle. Where does everybody else’s life depend on? All I need to do is look forward to the next fifteen minutes. How long will this take? Will I last till morning? Maybe someone will find me if I don’t bleed to death first.

I don’t know how long it was but I passed out somehow. Someone is checking on me and speaking my language. I opened my eyes and saw my team’s medic. He just finished changing the needle into a valve with switch that could be opened and closed and repeated the same instruction the enemy’s medic told me to do. So my life doesn’t depend on a needle anymore but on a valve with a switch. It’s an improvement somehow.

We succeeded in taking over the village. They are now piling the dead. One of those working with my army is the one who gave me breads years ago. He passed by and he seem to have recognized me. He smiled and went his way to carry another body to be loaded in a wagon. Then I saw the irony of things. The man who helped me was carrying the body of the man I once saved, the one who looked like my friend, the one who shot me. He was probably shot by one of our snipers somehow. So this is how the dice of life rolls. I saved him yesterday so that he can kill me today. And perhaps the one who saved me, I have to kill also tomorrow. Will it ever end? Maybe there is no end. But there is always hope right?

Or perhaps my life was just prolonged to die another day like the enemy I saved. Like Napoleon Bonaparte who lived in exile in Elba after his marshals mutinied against him. But yet again, he was given a chance to lead his army for a 100 days war. In the end, he was defeated in the battle of Waterloo.

After a month of recuperation, I am ready for another struggle. I was reassigned as a leader of the sniper squad, many of whom were my last teammates. The enemies have build roads accessible to their tanks and they have taken over the frontlines and got rid of the land mines. Now the frontline is a mountain that we own and not yet accessible to their tanks. But it is somehow few miles closer to us. They are gaining foothold to our territory.

We prepared for another battle. I am now twenty years old but somehow getting old is not comforting. I made small celebration a few days ago with my comrades at the same time for my promotion as a Corporal. We were happy for a day. But for me it’s ironic that I was promoted when I was shot. Why not when I managed to survive the annihilation of my team mates about two months ago? Perhaps this is also the start of my one hundred days war or perhaps mine is just 10 days, maybe just a day.

All of these thoughts don’t matter in this part of the World. We don’t have to think, we only need to follow orders. There are many things I will never know. I only need to know one thing, and that is how to fight. To my people, that means a lot.

So we advanced once again to save our comrades in the frontline that holds the survival of my people. If we lose this battle, tomorrow, the frontline will be few more miles closer to us. I picked my backpack and my rifle. Strapped them both on my shoulders and we began our march. The next step is always heavier than the last. Each step is taking me closer to my end, to my death.

At dusk we began the attack. Artillery fires covered the still valley. Silently our assault teams penetrated the line and captured one trench hole after another. My sniper team provided them cover. The infrared scopes helped us see through the darkness. We advanced forward about a hundred yards or two behind our assault troops. If our soldiers will succeed to take over the mountain, tomorrow, we will put landmines around against the enemy’s tanks.

My team was scattered thoroughly to cover the advancing troops.

My eyes were fixed on the scope, my fingers squeezing the trigger. Any moment soon, perhaps one of them will also find me in their sights. But until then, I will take all that I can. Every bullet should count; I am death.

A story by Carl Cariño Taawan