Just Another Shot

This story might be a work of fiction but this is what happens, every time a gun speaks, then whether it is Vietna, Afganistan or Africa.

Just another shot

The clear moonless night blew a gust of cold air through my hair. I, standing in the middle of that grassy stretch of the camp, tried in vain to push the chilly feeling out of my mind. I let my rifle slid off my shoulder and rested it on the boulder beside the post. Here I was. Miles away from home, on an alien land with more ammunition in my back pack than feelings in my heart. I had left everything far behind. Family, emotions, relations, and above all, my ambitions. Now all I wanted was this war to end. I had left them far behind. It was three years back that India had agreed to station its troops in Africa as an aid to U.N peace keeping force. I was amongst the first batch stationed here and ever since, I had hated this scenario. The war had turned out to be more violent and longer than expected and at present, a shoot-at-sight order had been passed against any suspect. I had now more than 100 black entries in my encounter diary while my battalion in total had around 5000. Men had been killed on the field, inside homes (if one could call them so), and inside cells. Most of the deceased were captives and prisoners of war who were murdered just because there were no cells vacant and they had to be settled at all costs. Locals had begun to call us the ‘Peace-Breaking Force’.
I checked the watch. It was about midnight. Time passed so gradually during such quiet nights. I reported back to radio station that all was clear. Just then, I heard footsteps. I picked my rifle and pointed it towards the sound. I didn’t know what to expect out of that fatal darkness. “Boo!”. It was Jane. The all-time-favorite amongst our battalion. I placed down my rifle. “Hey! Cool locket. Where did you get it?”. I removed my locket and showed it to him. It was a typical army metal locket with my name carved on it neatly. He examined it closely. “Do you expect me to call you wolverine or something? I wish it had my name on it.” I snatched it back. “Keep your hands off it”. We wrestled playfully and at last, he pulled back. I was an Indian while he, an American. He was the only one of his battalion, who had survived the war. All else were shots (‘Shot’ was referred to a soldier killed on the battlefield). Still, he was as cheerful as a child. He was temporarily positioned with our battalion for the past 13 months. I sat on the boulder next to the post and he on the single step at its entrance. I had asked him about his home, family and his battalion a number of times but he always avoided the talk. He said he never wanted them to know where and how he was. During all these years, it was his cheerfulness that had kept me alive.
The night deepened. I again checked the time. It was 1 ’o clock. Jane prepared to go. “O.K. buddy. Time to go. I am stationed at the entrance. It’s better out there”. He gave me a playful shove and left. I also stood up and decided to go for a patrol.
Midway, the alarms rang up. I received a wireless message of RED-ALERT. We all were gathered up. I, commanding my battalion, hoped it was just a routine check. I was wrong. We were broken up into fragments and soon, were made aware that a major conflict had broken up and that the whole of Africa was burning. The commander -in -chief reported, “Gentlemen, the guerrilla warfare is over. Enemy has declared war. Let's show them that we are united for the cause of humanity, for the cause of peace”. Then, we departed.
It had been three weeks since I had left the base camp. I was stationed at the north-east frontier. Fighting had been fierce and bloody. I lost eleven men of my battalion and double the number were reported missing from the battlefield. I never had a chance to write back home and I assumed that they considered me dead. I did not befriend anybody for I had begun to fear both friendship and relations. I was shifted to Rolonso, then to Marshiew and then to New Shamoa. There, I received orders to be shifted to the Eastern frontier. I had no chances of survival now. The battle out there was at its zenith and I hadn’t heard of anybody who had returned from there alive. I was happy for I knew this would be over once for all.
As soon as I reached there, our fragment was allotted the task to guard the base camp. My duty was at the cemetery where a number of unidentified shots were to be buried. I decided to have a look. The person in charge was a local and was preparing to cover their faces. I glanced at them.My eyes went dark and my knees buckled. The person first in the row was Jane. He was shot in the chest. I knew he must have suffered a lot before death. After years, I wanted to cry, scream and curse God all together. I held a gravestone tightly to keep from falling. “You Okay?”. I was nonplussed. I had never expected this. God Damn. I tried to force tears into my eyes, life into my tounge, and blood into my brain. But I was numb. Dead as the bodies lying below. “ Do you know his name?”.
“No”. That was all I could gather up. “ They know nothing about him? Looks like an American. But who cares. He is just another shot”. Then he went back to work. I removed my locket and placed it stealthily in his pocket. “Yeah. Just another shot”. I picked up my rifle and went on with my patrol.

Vicky (Jaspreet Singh)