we were soldiers update (death count)
Many of you may remember this previous post.
I though it was time for an update.
The Sniper:
What was once held as a supreme example of patience and due diligence has been revealed to be nothing more than a mere facade. We marveled at his patience and endurance during the rough weather. Of always waiting waiting waiting... How did he have enough foresight to wait out a possible shot that would be met with instant gratification for the certainty of a better shot? Actually, he didn't. I have observed this man closely, inspired by his demeanor and challenged by his immobility. But time and weather have tested this young soldier's heart. His position is not as still, his stare is not as fixed. Time and nature have also paid their toll on his weapons... much to my surprise. His single-bolt action rifle was nothing more than a smoothly carved out olive branch fitted with a scope. He looked and looked because there was no gun, no chamber, no barrel, no gun. Only a scope to covet what he desired. He is sniper, no more... only the lookout. This isn't SWAT, it's the development league.
The MachineGunner:
There is so much silence now. Only faint memories of this warrior remain, echoes of his barrage, and cold empty shells that once filled his chamber. He's given up war and gone to civilian life. He took his one kill and opted to go back to the homefront. Military strategy, infantry power, soldier morale, officer efficiency, weapon inventory are no longer his concern. It's Bed, Bath and Beyond, eating at fancy restaurants, running in the marina. The MachineGunner is no more, it's the DomesticatedRunner.
The POW:
There were two in our platoon. One would have been enough, but we were graced with two. They wore their trinkets of sedition proudly. One even had an extra bling to his disgrace. However, he has taken the ultimate kill. He has made the enemy his own. Turned her away from her own side so that they may run off together into the land of BBQs and hot-ass sweating summers. We say them for a brief moment, convicted by their new commitment, never to fight this war again. Now, only one is left. But he too will soon give up this life. To join the many brothers who have exchanged their guns, knives, and grenades for toilet scrubs, aprons, and dishwashing liquid... they will be Prisoners of War or of Civility.
I though it was time for an update.
The Sniper:
What was once held as a supreme example of patience and due diligence has been revealed to be nothing more than a mere facade. We marveled at his patience and endurance during the rough weather. Of always waiting waiting waiting... How did he have enough foresight to wait out a possible shot that would be met with instant gratification for the certainty of a better shot? Actually, he didn't. I have observed this man closely, inspired by his demeanor and challenged by his immobility. But time and weather have tested this young soldier's heart. His position is not as still, his stare is not as fixed. Time and nature have also paid their toll on his weapons... much to my surprise. His single-bolt action rifle was nothing more than a smoothly carved out olive branch fitted with a scope. He looked and looked because there was no gun, no chamber, no barrel, no gun. Only a scope to covet what he desired. He is sniper, no more... only the lookout. This isn't SWAT, it's the development league.
The MachineGunner:
There is so much silence now. Only faint memories of this warrior remain, echoes of his barrage, and cold empty shells that once filled his chamber. He's given up war and gone to civilian life. He took his one kill and opted to go back to the homefront. Military strategy, infantry power, soldier morale, officer efficiency, weapon inventory are no longer his concern. It's Bed, Bath and Beyond, eating at fancy restaurants, running in the marina. The MachineGunner is no more, it's the DomesticatedRunner.
The POW:
There were two in our platoon. One would have been enough, but we were graced with two. They wore their trinkets of sedition proudly. One even had an extra bling to his disgrace. However, he has taken the ultimate kill. He has made the enemy his own. Turned her away from her own side so that they may run off together into the land of BBQs and hot-ass sweating summers. We say them for a brief moment, convicted by their new commitment, never to fight this war again. Now, only one is left. But he too will soon give up this life. To join the many brothers who have exchanged their guns, knives, and grenades for toilet scrubs, aprons, and dishwashing liquid... they will be Prisoners of War or of Civility.
posted by chongo1201 at 8:25 AM
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