Friday, March 24, 2006
The Last Straw
Dante was wrong. The first level of hell is here, on this earth.
The black moonless sky over the minefield was ravaged by sudden bursts of searing light followed by the dull thud of artillery explosions in the distance. The thudding grew gradually louder as the shells landed closer and closer.
The four of them huddled against the muddy sides of the ditch; the cold, damp, acrid air chilling them to the bone. All night they had been pinned down.
At last, rosy fingered dawn arose ahead of them in the east. The hopelessness of their plight slowly became hideously visible to them, promising only more misery.
"One of us has to go for help." said Andy. Andy was twenty years old, but his baby face made him look younger. At home he had a one month old son whom he had never seen. Often his thoughts went to the child and to his wife Laura, and how she clung to his neck, sobbing as they said goodbye. Andy was usually cheerful, secure in his faith that his God would protect him.
"Why can’t we all go?" Bill’s voice was a tired moan. His suffering was more acute than that of the others. He felt physical pain from the bursts of noise. His ears were now constantly ringing.
"Because it’s suicide! You saw what happened to Phil and the Sarge!" Each had stepped on an anti-personnel mine. Freddy sounded angry, but Freddy always sounded angry. Somehow life was always conspiring to swindle him. Today proved it.
"Let’s draw straws to see who goes." said Joe. Joe was a Cola addict, with straws always handy, should a bottle or can of Cola materialize. Joe usually had the least to say. He would generally stand aside and watch the others like a mother hen. Joe didn’t know it, but he needed to be needed.
Joe pulled four straws from his pocket, and hid most of their length in his fist
Freddy stepped up to Joe, reached out and pulled one of the straws from his hand. It obviously wasn’t a short straw.
Bill looked terrified. Being here with his buddies was bad enough, but the thought of going off alone... Yet he stepped forward and pulled the second straw. It too was a long one.
Now it was between Andy and Joe.
"I’ll go." said Joe.
"Like Hell." said Andy and grabbed one of the remaining straws. Another long one.
Joe opened his hand with the last straw only to find that it too was a long one. In their fatigue they has forgotten to cut one short.
"Now what?" grumbled Freddy. None of them had the spirit to go through that again.
They didn’t have to.
The shell exploded directly over the ditch. Where moments before, four young lives struggled to survive, now all that was left was bloody bits of flesh, bone and clothing, splattered over the landscape.
Here and there, part of an arm or leg could be found - it never was ascertained how many had been in the ditch.
The black moonless sky over the minefield was ravaged by sudden bursts of searing light followed by the dull thud of artillery explosions in the distance. The thudding grew gradually louder as the shells landed closer and closer.
The four of them huddled against the muddy sides of the ditch; the cold, damp, acrid air chilling them to the bone. All night they had been pinned down.
At last, rosy fingered dawn arose ahead of them in the east. The hopelessness of their plight slowly became hideously visible to them, promising only more misery.
"One of us has to go for help." said Andy. Andy was twenty years old, but his baby face made him look younger. At home he had a one month old son whom he had never seen. Often his thoughts went to the child and to his wife Laura, and how she clung to his neck, sobbing as they said goodbye. Andy was usually cheerful, secure in his faith that his God would protect him.
"Why can’t we all go?" Bill’s voice was a tired moan. His suffering was more acute than that of the others. He felt physical pain from the bursts of noise. His ears were now constantly ringing.
"Because it’s suicide! You saw what happened to Phil and the Sarge!" Each had stepped on an anti-personnel mine. Freddy sounded angry, but Freddy always sounded angry. Somehow life was always conspiring to swindle him. Today proved it.
"Let’s draw straws to see who goes." said Joe. Joe was a Cola addict, with straws always handy, should a bottle or can of Cola materialize. Joe usually had the least to say. He would generally stand aside and watch the others like a mother hen. Joe didn’t know it, but he needed to be needed.
Joe pulled four straws from his pocket, and hid most of their length in his fist
Freddy stepped up to Joe, reached out and pulled one of the straws from his hand. It obviously wasn’t a short straw.
Bill looked terrified. Being here with his buddies was bad enough, but the thought of going off alone... Yet he stepped forward and pulled the second straw. It too was a long one.
Now it was between Andy and Joe.
"I’ll go." said Joe.
"Like Hell." said Andy and grabbed one of the remaining straws. Another long one.
Joe opened his hand with the last straw only to find that it too was a long one. In their fatigue they has forgotten to cut one short.
"Now what?" grumbled Freddy. None of them had the spirit to go through that again.
They didn’t have to.
The shell exploded directly over the ditch. Where moments before, four young lives struggled to survive, now all that was left was bloody bits of flesh, bone and clothing, splattered over the landscape.
Here and there, part of an arm or leg could be found - it never was ascertained how many had been in the ditch.
