On the Wings of Hope: Prose

Wrath of war

A whistle of a flying shell. Air, dissected by an iron pig. Explosion. Explosion - just behind the next hill.

Missed. Missed again.

Alive. I am alive! Still alive.

Have missed the mark, slightly – but have missed. Lucky enough?

And how many times again must he be lucky enough during all these days, to remain alive? How many?

However, it could be worse – much worse. Worse than when his lung was shot and he has been gasping since then, sucking air into lungs with some sobs, and releasing it outside – still hot, warmed by his organism air… the air of war and destructions. Even worse than when the explosion of a grenade has deprived him of his three hand's fingers… instead of them – bloody-stained lumps.

A nevertheless he is still alive, living in this mad war. Alive among hundreds and hundreds of other mad ones.

Will he last for long?

A machine gun fired nearby. Into entrenchments! – where the killing iron will not reach him. To the ground – the ground of native land… the country, which was hardly resisting enemy's onslaught. The enemy… How, when these people, just the same as he is, when have they become his enemies? Why enemies? What a monstrous absurd and error must have occurred that they suddenly became enemies? Another madness?

Anyway, they are enemies now. Worse than that – the hungry beasts, feasting on corpses of killed and wounded, rejoicing with each death of hated enemy… next cut thread of human's life… human… No, they are not like humans now… not anymore. Each of them – is not a human anymore. They were like them, in their former lives – but not anymore. No.

Since this madness of war has begun.

And once again a whistle of a machine gun and a desperate shriek somewhere far in these entrenchments. His comrade has died – a brother by motherland, by faith, by customs. Yet another stopped life way. Yet again a grief for his parents – if, of course, they are still alive… One more life put on the altar… what for? For the sake of what all this war was started? Territories? Resources? Money? World influence? But how insignificant all these temporal goals in comparison with one – yes, with a single stopped human life! And there are hundreds and hundreds of them by each day.

Enemies couldn't feel regret. They had no desire to understand. They had to kill – kill their enemies. Same people as they are.

And this was the most awful, the most horrific that a blinded by the power and riches human mind could invent. A mistake, terrible mistake… unforgivable mistake. An error, which price is – the split blood – the blood of wounded and dying people, the blood of those, who once were them. An error, which price is – ruined cities and destroyed families, corrupted human fates. An error, which price is – unleashed a war of two nations.

The war… and for how long will this war ever last? Until the last soldier is killed? Until all major cities of the enemy are wiped out from the face of Earth? Until the flame of grief inflames all far horizons of this country – a country, whose destiny is to be subdued. To become a raw appendage of a more powerful state and – more aggressive – those which begun the war, made a monstrous mistake for which both will have to pay.

They will not withstand – he knew it. Technics, weapons, resources – the enemy has all it in plenty. Much more than they can dream of. They had only one thing left which has played such a malicious joke – natural resources, riches of Earth interior – the motherland, where he has to die. He has to die, seeing coming victorious forces of the enemy, seeing their proud and blind delight of a victory, seeing their hatred to those survived – civilian population… to survived civilians – if, of course, there will be many survivors. He hoped there will be many. It must be many – for sometimes after decades and decades his country could reborn.

And still he has to fight – along with other your men, quickly mobilized and driven on the front lines soon after the beginning of the war. Hastily trained. Slightly armed. Not murderers – living people.

The burst of machine gun has abated and he has slightly raised his head. As he has suspected – enemy's infantry was advancing in full order. Damn, it would be so great to have some heavy technics here and now – some tank. Or tanks. But all large forces have already been mobilized in other directions. And they have been abandoned here, against superior forces of the enemy, with almost no means of protection. They have been left to die here on the battlefield. Well, he thought – to die means to die. There are no other options possible, apparently. A pity, his death will be in vain.

He has suddenly caught himself on a thought of how he can die to grasp as many as possible enemies together with him, for enemies aren't talked with, they have to be – killed. But whether they would begin to kill him if they have happened to meet in different circumstances? Possibly, they would even become friends. Yes, friends with that very young soldier that has so ineptly got out forward…

A recharge of submachine gun… a sound of taken and inserted charger. A shot. Enemy's soldier silently falls down with a punched head… One more enemy has fallen. Ruthlessly killed.

Madness… This is total madness. Humans, transformed into animals and brought for murders.

Non-humans? Are there are humans in the war at all, humans – soldiers? Soldiers, who have still remained humans? He met and saw those returned from wars time and again – almost nobody from them could get accustomed to peaceful life. Only singles did. For this is war. For this is madness.

Enemies were approaching – without concealing, methodically and openly. They saw and felt their victory – feasted on the victory, feasted each moment with relish. Then they will feast over the conquered territory, too… They didn't know yet what a monstrous error they have already committed. Mistake, for which they should pay off once…

The columns of the enemy are absolutely nearby – there is no more reason to cover in the entrenchments. The order of their commander, shouted in the air – “Forward!” And here he is – their commander, leaving an entrenchment – and moving towards the enemy. And falling. Falling without a single shout. But the impulse is picked up – and soldiers rise. Rise on their last fight. The shortest fight possible.

Sounds of discharged weapons. People, dying from both sides. Dying for nothing.

He has risen the time he has heard the order. Has run forward – first, second, third – enemies fell before him.

But a shot finally comes – and pain burns his shoulder. He shots once more – and yet another soldier of the enemy falls down. One more shot – and blow in a breast throw him aside.

Ground. Native ground. You are so close to me now. So close…

A bent face of the enemy. A gunpoint, looking at his forehead. A shot. Last one in his life.

The war…

The madness of war…

03.04.2003