Tales From The Mind of Thomas

Rain slowly patters against puddles, filling the holes left behind by explosions in the ground. A light breeze brushes the air, leaving it chilled. The grey sky dims slowly as nightfall begins to settle in. Behind the front damaged façade of a crippled office building, a squad of men take refuge. Warmed by only their coats, they dare not start a fire. Worn and beaten down by the loss of the day’s combat, they struggle to sleep. Their once youthful faces, aged by conflict. Their rifles are firmly grasped as they hear marching beyond their shelter. The mechanized rumblings send dread down their spines. They watch as the intimidating column passes by. Their hearts pace with trepidation. Their brains chilled.

One readies his rifle, aiming at who he views as the most important. His breaths are slowed and deep. His finger is tense with apprehension. Another bows his head with eyes closed, clutching his Bible in prayer, asking for peace of mind and steeling of nerves. A third holds his rifle close to his body, his back pressed against a wall, his head lowered, blankly staring into the ground, his breaths rapid and shallow, and his heart furiously racing. The fourth, with his helmet in his lap, looks upon a photograph of his love with a lowered smile, wishing he was by her side. The last silently observes the passing enemy, his gaze fixed firmly on them, his mind calmed, his breaths measured.

The column seems to creep by slowly for what feels like a thousand years. Multiple times they tensed up, certain they’d been spotted. Multiple times relief did wash over them. The haunting rumbling begins to dissipate as the column finally vanishes beyond their sight. Their hearts begin to recover as their minds assuage. They begin to settle in for the night, the air around them left a void of sound. Under the dim moonlight barely piercing through breaking clouds, their only source of light, they attempt to rest. One man remains on alert, taking the first shift as his comrades attempt to rest. The silence, broken up by the occasional chirping cricket, gifts them an uneventful night.

With the rising morning sun breaking the darkness, the men rise from their restless sleep. Consuming their ration packs for a morning meal, they ready themselves against the day. Their task, the same as the day prior, is to recover a fallen comrade so that he may return home. Two men lift up a makeshift stretcher. A covered body with a bloodied blanket rest on top. A rifle still strapped to the fallen soldier. His brothers in arms continue their march home with somber-filled hearts, 38 miles away.