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|11-07-2015, 01:38 AM||#1 (permalink)|
A tale told to me by an old veteran
A little writing experiment I did about five years ago, but it seems an appropriate time for a re-post. Enjoy.
"I never talk about my time in the military, not since that horrible day. To start, it's not like today. The military wasn't respected, not even by the government. We were carbon-copy killers, loyal, nameless, and disposable. We weren't even volunteers. The bureaucrats wanted more troops, so bang, they get us.
Near the end of the war we got a mission that seemed like a cake walk, guard a generator powering some type of defense system or something protecting a near by base that was under construction. Of course the damn generator was deep in the jungle. They told us not to worry about the natives, who were barely out of the stone age. No match to our modern weapons.
The brass warned us to expect an attack by insurgents, led by some religious nut. Things were going well. We ambushed the damn scum and captured them. Unfortunately as we led them away the jungle seemed to come alive. Somehow the insurgents had convinced the natives to help them. Those damn pygmies were everywhere! No matter how many we gunned down, more came out of the bush. Tactical armor doesn't mean much when you're being choked by a bolo, or crushed under a rock slide. I watched my best friend die when two giant logs slammed together on his armored vehicle and crushed it like a beer can. I barely made it out alive before they destroyed the generator. The vision of that base going up in a giant fireball still haunts my dreams.
But in the end I'm almost glad the rebels blew up that Death Star...."
Nunquam emere quid potes facere