Red Horizon

Day 3,376, 19:13 • Published in Ireland Ireland • by HarliQuinn

They don't train you for this. For the psychological torment you endure for the rest of your days. I can clean my weapon and assemble it faster than any one in my unit, but how do I look at some one who's missing half their limbs, blood forming a sea of red against the sand beneath them, and tell them it's going to be ok? That they will make it? How does my training to stay alive help me to keep them alive?

It's hard enough keeping my footing in the sand, I can feel jabs of pain in my legs, shrapnel. I can feel my sock getting soaked with my blood. The feeling makes me nauseated.

Step, squish.

Step, squish.

Mix that in with the sand that finds its way in, I mean come on, how the fuck does it get in there?!, and it won't be long before my feet get raw. I need to change my socks, but the person I carry over my shoulder doesn't have time for that. He's asking to be left behind. That I will get to base quicker if I put him down. I can't. I know I can't save him, but leaving him to die will just be another reason to not sleep at night.

"It's right ahead man, we're almost there" It's not. It's not even a dot on the horizon. He's facing our 6 for a reason. "You're going to be fine" I hate giving false hope. He won't make it home. He won't see tomorrow. I can feel my jacket getting heavier as it soaks in his blood.

The sun is getting lower, I see a formation against the horizon.

Step, squish.

Step, squish.

Almost home.