The Grim Reaper
Sweat
is pouring down my face, and the dust rises into my nostrils cutting off
my air supply.
The steel pot on my head rings with each explosion and I wonder where
the next round will fall.
Overhead I hear the rockets screaming through the air, seeking out life
so that they can create
death. With each second that passes they hit closer and closer until the
ground buckles and
moves under us.
The
earth tears apart and the spray from the shrapnel whizzes by as razors
seeking to cleave
the flesh from our bodies. The mortars have taken over and now echo
through the blackness with
a new barrage and intensity. Hollow sounds fill the air - WHOOMP-WHOOMP,
and then the silence.
They
will be heard only seconds before impact. ZzzzzzzzWHOOM! Fingers dig
into the earth clawing
for
safety. To run is futile, we cannot fight what we can't see. To run is
certain death,
To stay is to suffer a thousand deaths... We must stay.
Devastation
rules the darkness. We are at the mercy of fate. The Grim Reaper rolls
the dice and
brings his deadly blade down upon whom he wills. He will have a
productive harvest tonight.
Once again the the hollow sounds fill the night sky, this time in a
series of three. Silence,
and
then the whistling can be heard... That one is high. That one is high,
it will be over our
heads. zzzzzzzz This one will be closer - the sound is louder and it
explodes a few yards from
our position. ZZZZZzzz.. this one is gonna hit, if not the hole then
just outside.
Fear filled my body and the adrenalin and numbness that accompanies
terror floods my soul.
I
begin to pray, I prepare to die. I wait and I think let it be quick!
The
sound was as that of a giant shovel piercing the ground. Burying itself
deep at the edge of
our hole.
We
are frozen with fear.
Dirt
trickled in and bounced off our helmets. It seemed as though it were
raining pellets but
there
was no explosion.
DAMN
IT!...
I
cant believe this shit. I looked up slowly and peered over the edge of
our
foxhole. Then I saw it! Eyeball to mortar-fin. The mortar round was a
dud. It was
sticking upright out of the ground just inches from the edge. I tapped
Tom and he looked up,
we were both as pale as ghosts. We climbed out of our position and
stared in disbelief.
We
drifted off into the night shaking our heads. The barrage was over, we
survived,
and
the Grim Reaper was short-changed.
Perhaps
he paused to change his blade...
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