Sacrifice


Copyright The Stig – No Reproduction Without My Consent

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Terror has odd way of effecting people. In some cases people freeze and are unable to move even in the face of certain death. Other people become fixated on the source of the fear and don’t avert their attention. A solution may be six inches to the right of a person’s field of view but that solution will remain unseen. Tunnel vision they call it.

There are rare breeds of humans, however, that transcend their normal abilities in the face of danger. The fear pushes them to regions of their psyche they never knew existed. Physical acuity is magnified and strength increased beyond all rational understanding. It is these rare souls that are able to accomplish acts of heroism that inspire throughout the decades.

He could hear the rumble and clatter of armored vehicles approaching on the horizon. While he had busied himself preparing his men and moving them to different positions, no unlike a football quarterback, he now had a surplus of time to wait and ponder the coming fight. He had time to think about it.

Warning of the clash had come over the group’s radios but it didn’t register on the men. A quiet, back area of an internal war that erupted suddenly became the front line. Civil war was about to become very real. After initial doubt his men had responded ably. A major enemy offensive was relentlessly approaching their positions and US Highway 62 had suddenly been promoted from a road nobody knew to the avenue leading military success.

“Jeezus Sarge, what the hell is this?” asked a young solider. Good kid. Had joined the Army to pay for college. Unlike many of his peers the solider had grasped the honor and integrity of serving ones country. College faded in importance.

“This is war Private. Get to your position, check and recheck that you are ready for a fight. Just remember your training.”

The Sergeant had little to work with. The unit wasn’t even supposed to be there. A young Lieutenant had misread a map and the small group of warriors ended up camped just outside a small town. They had been on their way to a frontline several hundred miles distant. The frontline had found them.

The young Lieutenant meant well. Experience was earned and the young man hadn’t put in the required time yet. The Sergeant had worked with him. He’d be a good man, if he survived long enough for his years to translate into experience.

Intel was non-existent. Nothing new. Drills and exercises never quite captured the chaos and wool blanket of confusion that permeated actual combat situations. He knew all those drills were valuable, he never doubted that. But he knew his young troops hadn’t tasted battle. Their frame of reference was rifles fitted with adaptors to allow the use of blanks and referees ruling units out of action.

Today there would be no blanks. Referees decisions would be final.

The men were dug into what defensive positions they could muster with the hour of notice they were given. The orders came down: slow the advance of the enemy. No mention of any pertinent details. Just engage and slow them down. “No shit” the Sergeant thought to himself. “What are we going to do, help direct traffic?”

Like a scene out of a war movie, men in ACU uniforms hurried about like ants. Frantic movements digging foxholes, throwing up obstacles, preparing offensive weapons. He’d seen combat before. The clatter of armored vehicles tracks made clear their preparations would be laughable against the onslaught.

His fighting position was with a small group of his men. A young private was breathing heavy. Not normal breathing but more spasmodic. Fear was overtaking him.

“Dickerson, square breath” advised the Sergeant. With a reassuring hand on his back he demonstrated. Soon the Private mimicked the cycle of taking in oxygen, holding the breath followed by a slow exhale. “Fear’s ok, just don’t let it get you. Breathe. Front sight, press trigger. Copy that?

The Private looked up at his instructor. “Copy that Sarge”