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Death: a soldier's memoir Cursing my habit of my afternoon naps, the reason why my reflex was slow and my head was dizzy, I got up and started to run. I ran straight and fast, to the fringes of the city where the paddy fields were vast with little pockets of trees within. I could hear gunfights progressing in the distance but I could not give a damn. But Matt! Matt was with me and we were supposed to stick together. I was already three blocks away but I decided to go back. That was when I saw him, lying against a burning automobile. His Head. The first waves of artillery shells must have gotten him when he was out keeping a watch for the allied forces we were supposed to rendezvous with. His Kevlar was intact though and without a thought I took it. I felt safer. Suddenly I realized the rumble of the B52 bombers had died away but the distant gunfights were still going on, intermittently. The courage I had lacked a few moments ago sans the Kevlar vest was suddenly there and I found myself approaching the areas where the fights were going on, god knows between whom. Maybe I was hoping that it was the allied forces that were engaging the enemy. For two blocks nothing happened. I kept going, slowly, firearm cocked, and trying to make myself the smallest possible target. Something flashed by a dark window in front of me and I took the shot. Unsure if I hit the target, I burst into the building hoping to take another shot at it, and there she was - gushing out all the blood in the world from her little wound - a child. By Hitoishi Chakma |
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