Spill Over

Of course we knew, we were the deplorable knowers, we had seen it all, we had been informed even before it was an atrocity, and then there was the unusual coincidence that more than news for us it had been part of what we did, that is we did it.

Troops were storming our barricades now, the front lines kept on inching towards us, it was as if the entire war would meet its end at our feet and everyone was eager but us.

We could not have foreseen our heroics turned into the a marching horror of disciplined atrocities, we could not have seen it that way, we were young, naive, unaware of great victories, Sergeant Slosher was the only one in the troop that had seen battle, he had been compromised by a bullet and gotten a purple heart out of it, he was proud of it, he wore it all the time, hed put shoe polish on it so that it would not brighten the enemies sights, but other than Slosher, we were kids, playing paint ball with our own blood.

We came here to help these nice people escape the tyranny, they needed freedom we wanted to give them the same opportunities that we had back home. Only now it seems inappropriate to have to bring liberty with bullets; that is how Private Johnson saw it when he squeamishly unleashed a barrage of bullets into the town’s council.

It was a hot desert day, we were marching through the town on operation Quiet Town, the idea was to humble the insurgents and show the town folk that we were the good guys. A hot desert day though, in a place with a strange god and absorbed peoples, and Private Johnson paranoid himself and confused the brooms for guns, the black garb for uniforms, the sunglasses glaring as flashes of lightning fire, and so he pulled the trigger and held it down and since he was the machine gunner it sounded like we were all firing and couldn’t run out of ammo.

Johnson, Private Johnson, know nothing kid from some civilized dungeon, helter skelter where ever he went, guy didn’t know more than to rob convenient stores, a judge offered him the option of joining the military or going to jail, why he chose the military who could know, just like now we could blame the judge.

Once the bullets of fear were going down pass a waterlog, through the dry hot air, and into a collage of blood, we took cover, Sergeant Slosher knew we were overburdened by the situation, and he ordered us to take cover and assume defensive positions, the towns folk were not well armed, but one couldn’t very well defend oneself against an enemy one didn’t understand or could not really see until it was too late.

We took cover and then Sergeant Slosher walked over to Johnson and shot him, he didn’t wait for the kid to say sorry, or for the situation to clear itself out, or for a jurisprudence court-martial, he went up to him and shot him! He then looked at his eleven soldiers remaining and warned us. “You fucking assholes do stupid shit like that and I am going to kill you too.” He took his helmet off washed himself he sweat with his sandy hand, “but now I think we are dead anyway, we are not going to walk out of here alive, so you guys just hang tight, see how long we can make these bullets last, if we stay together we will at least be able to say we got fired upon first, we have been corralled, and Johnson lost it and became a danger to us, I shot him.” He kicked the body, spits on it, and then takes his purple heart and places it on Johnson’s body, “kid got scare, anyone can get scared out here, the situation scares the shit out of me.”

My name is Harvinger, I come from a nice family, they have never lived shit like this, I joined the Army because I didn’t have anything particular in mind for myself, the family was proud of me when I graduated from boot camp, they thought I had accomplished something, I could tell I hadn’t but I couldn’t tell them that, they were so happy to see me in uniform. When the war started they got sad and worried right away but they thought, well at least he is in a policing battalion, they go in after the grunts have made the area safe, but then the very word police denotes, “civilian enemies.” It should have been obvious, damn obvious.

The boys and I we understood what Slosher was doing, he was honoring a fallen soldier and trying to save our asses too, poor guy he couldn’t possibly benefit much from his payroll check, where was the money to justify his responsibility. He walked over to me, “Are you scared?”

“Yes Sergeant.”

“Me too. Now help me hold this together alright.”

“Yes sir, I will.” I don’t know why I threw in the I will, I guess it was corrosive but I had to somehow say I\t, after all I was agreeing to cover things up, I wanted a way out, he noticed but he couldn’t acknowledge it.

“Men, we are in a heap of trouble now, the chances that we will walk out of here alive are nil, the only thing on our side bettering the odds is that in war nothing ever happens like it is suppose to happen, that is to our favor, that is all.” He then called for Mustacho, Alen Mustacho our communications man, our link to the civilized world.

Turn the juice on and repeat after me Mustacho; “Heavy fire.” “Repeat it” “Heavy fire, under heavy fire, unknown enemies, trapped in an abandoned building north two blocks from the central square, urgent, need air and ground support to fortify and secure position, one man dead.”

Mustacho solemnly repeated after his sergeant, repeated, but there was not an ounce of belief in his voice, he didn’t sound rushed, worried, he sounded numb, if I had been listening on the other side I would have doubted that he was talking under heavy fire, instead I would have concluded that he was a hostage repeating what he was told.

The sergeant must have concluded the same because after Mustacho ended the communication he kicked him in the ribs and yelled, “listen here asshole, (pointing to his own ear) I am going to save your ass and you are going to let me! (then looking at us) I know you imbeciles don’t get it, I know you aren’t going to get it, but Johnson changed the laws of engagement, the laws of reporting, the laws by which we are going to get out of here, and no one back home is going to judge you assholes heroes for holding on to “I DIDNT DO IT” it is not in some congressman’s interest for you to be right, justice stop mattering when Johnson unleashed the machinegun and with those bullets implicated us all.” He took out his revolver, and pointed it at Mustacho’s temple, now you young ones might not want to live but I don’t know why, I don’t particularly like my job or this life but I don’t want to die willingly, so you will decide for yourselves, but nothing that jeopardizes us getting out of here alive and with some form of heroes welcome at the other end, is getting in my way.”

In order to save Mustacho and ourselves we all said, “Yes sir!” With that he ordered Mustacho to open the channel of communications, and I was ordered to use the machinegun in all directions to create a sense of urgency.

The town folk were already offended enough, they had indeed been firing pot shots here and there, but after my little barrage they started throwing hand grenades, and we weren’t safe any more.

We started hearing our own troops arriving in from the south, we knew they were now shooting indiscriminately so as to rescue us, we only had to hold out for a about fifteen minutes till the tanks made it to the position that we were broadcasting over the radio.

Sergeant Slosher ordered a helicopter gun ship to lay waste to a government building and to destroy a Mosque, and after all that the civilians were pretty much frightened into a stupor of disbelief and the rest were laid as dead. I felt safe enough to look out for our troops when a headless those of shrapnel from a grenade charred my arm off.

Sergeant helped me, “kid you are going to get out of here alive. Ok.”

“I don’t want to live without my arm sergeant, please shoot me, shoot me before the medics get here.”

“Your talking nonsense kid, I know what it feels like, but after a little while you will want to live. And we are going to make it now.”

The other guys were staring at me with fear in their eyes.

“Listen Sergeant, (reaching for every ounce of breath) listen to me sergeant I am going to compromise your position, you better kill me if you don’t want me to talk about what really happened in this town!”

I wasn’t totally done when Mustacho walked up to me and pointed his rifle at me, our rescue troops could be heard near by, “Sergeant I think Harvinger is in great pain.”

The sergeant tried to get the bullets away from me, and it was unfortunate for both of us. I think the boys made it out ok but in war there is never anyway to know.

RC