War's Evolution

 

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War's Evolution

The interminable pace of his reality drew on him like a time-lapse sunrise. The moment the ground rushed toward him was reminiscent of every rugby tackle he been on the receiving end of – all of them, combined in that one, fleeting, insistent moment. Like a projected scene had ensconced his mind, he felt distant from his own being, only feeling the ebbing warmth on the right hand side of his back. The fear set in and with it, an increased awareness of his environment – its dry familiarity, abundant once more. His face started to sting, coinciding with a resonant hum that his ears had learned to discern in the most hostile of environments. Something was piercing the dry air and driving masses of air downward and he tried to catch a glimpse to confirm what his ears and face were telling him. He knew that opening his eyes would hurt but he needed to determine if it was a ‘DUSTOFF’ medevac crew onboard their Blackhawk. If it was an HH-60L he would see the hoist on the door side letting him know that specialist medics were on board and more importantly the fighting was considered close to over. Shocked at how much energy it took he slowly covered his eyes with his left hand and created a slivered opening between his fingers and peered through. He was shocked at how much energy it took. He caught the glimpse he wanted along with an eye full of sand. No sooner had he seen the helicopter, he was thrown to a memory of his childhood. 8 years old playing hide and seek, peeking through his hand to see where his mother would hide. In that moment, as the sand whipped him, the warmth in his back ebbed and he strained for input to help him evaluate his situation, he missed her. The heartache was sobering, somewhat akin to smelling salts, and in that jolting, momentary grief he returned to the glimpse of the in-flight refueling probe that trailed rearward to the glass cockpit. His heartache gave way to the second dawning of his time-lapse sunrise and he finally grasped why the brothers he had seen perish seemed so fitful as life was parsed from their body – the mind fights differently to the body. He refused to acknowledge the current state of mental play, and tuned his mind to the variables at hand as he had been trained. The chopper was an MH-60L, a Blackhawk modified primarily for the U.S Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, and the frustration at not having picked the difference in engine noise gave away to a surge of adrenaline. Coinciding with the surge was now a transitioning warmth that became cooler as it progressed and the right hand that had not moved from his side since he fell, was encountered by a slow moving, viscous pool. The reprehensible metallic tone that had overshadowed many of his worst memories was most definitely that of blood. He heard compression of the landing gear and knew that boots would hit the ground within tenths of a second. He focused on what he would say, what they encountered, how the whole thing went awry from the start and that no amount of planning or preparation could prepare them for what they faced. Overwhelmed by a sliding fatigue he closed his eyes, he would embrace it this time. He had earned the sleep. Weary, broken and unable to assist those assisting him, what were a few minutes of shut-eye? As he reconciled his self-deception he drifted, acutely aware that this was surrender and he was on his way to see his mother.

 

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