Basic Training

I awake to birds singing cheerily in the trees above my head. I open my eyes and stretch. A yawn nearly splits my skull open. Sitting up, I see that my woolen blanket is covered with pine needles. The wind must have risen in the night. I stand up and shake it out.

After rolling up the blanket and stowing it with my pack, I climb out of my hole to take a look at my surroundings. Craters mark the terrain from the artillery shells that deluged this area last night. The burned shell of the tank still squats across the clearing and shattered trees litter the landscape. I shake my head. Devastation.

"Jensen! Good to see you're still alive!" I turn at the familiar voice.

"Barely," I smile wanly. "That was one of the fiercest bombardments yet."

He grunts. "It was a lot worse on other parts of the line. The brunt of the attack landed to the north. Nevertheless, we lost three dead and nine wounded. Cursed artillery. Of course Denney..."

We both fall silent. Denney lost it the first night, screaming and clawing at the floor of his foxhole midway through a bombardment. He was evacuated to the rear, but the shock of his breakdown still sends a tremor through the company.

Denney excelled in basic training. He took to the military atmosphere like a duck to water. He was everyone's pick for a real hero. Yet all his training did him no good. Training is useless when the solder can't fight. The first sign of combat shattered his nerve and sent him to the hospital. Nervous breakdown. Combat fatigue. Whatever you call it, the facts remain the same. Denney is gone.

* * * * * *

In the battle that rages around us, parents are anxious for their children's safety. They should be. The enemy loves to attack young souls. They are inexperienced and fall easily to his assaults. Thus, it is quite understandable for parents to thorougly indoctrinate their children into the service of the Captain. They hope that a solid foundation will assure their young ones' salvation and bring them up to be solid soldiers of the King.

So they bring their children to the King's house whenever the doors are open. They carefully monitor their children's friends and entertainment habits. They bring their children up in the King's Way, reading His Book to them even before they are born.

Their efforts appear to bear fruit. The children walk and talk the King's Way effortlessly. They can recite portions of the King's Book in their sleep. They speak of the Captain as if He was their best friend. Their parents look on and smile. This one is surely safe from the enemy.

Perhaps not.

In all their preparation, in all their fervent efforts to keep their children in the King's Way, they have missed one vital thing. This one thing, like a chink in a suit of armor, gives the enemy all the room that he needs. They neglected to ensure that the child has a relationship with the King. If he does not, any efforts to train him for the King should be abandoned. Their whole energy should be focused upon helping him see his need for the Captain. If he has no relationship with the Captain, any efforts to reform his behavior or bring him up in the King's Way will ultimately fail.

Training is useless if the soldier can't fight. The soldier can't fight if he doesn't realize there is a battle. The soldier can't realize there is a battle unless his eyes are opened by the Captain. If his eyes are not opened by the Captain, all training he has received is useless.

Indeed, it does more harm than good.

Any training poured into a blinded one does nothing but teach him how to behave to satisfy the real soldiers around him. He puts on the outward appearance of a soldier, but his heart is not in it. The only thing his trainers accomplish is to create an actor of the worst sort. Because his trainers do not know that he is blinded, they cannot help him see.

Parents, before you bring your children to the King's house again or ask them to memorize more of the King's book, have a heart-to-heart talk with them. Make sure that your efforts are not being wasted. Ensure that they have a relationship with the Captain.

My comrades, do not alienate your brothers who have not yet seen the light. Your greatest testimony is when you accept the blinded ones and love them the same.

Blinded ones, stop your pretending and be honest. There is no shame in the truth. A relationship with the Captain is the most rewarding experience you can imagine. Can you feel it pulling at your soul?

My heart cries out for my blinded friends. Come to the Light. Leave your chains and be free.

Dear King, open the eyes of the blinded ones.

O my Captain, save our children.

The Foxhole

The earth shakes. Thunderous explosions rend the ground, fountaining dirt and debris thirty feet into the air. Automatic weapons crackle between ear-shattering concussions. A deep rumble announces the arrival of a tank. The muzzle flashes and a shell speeds on its way. A tall pine tree splinters at its impact, the treetop crashing to the earth as its base is suddenly destroyed. Tracers light up the night sky as shadowy shapes scream overhead on their missions of death.

In a small hole in the ground, I cower, trying to fit as much of my body as is humanly possible behind my helmet. Waves of terror roll over me, threatening to overwhelm my mind. I cling to sanity by a narrow thread, my nervous system taxed by an ordeal that it was not designed to endure. For what seems like hours, I quiver in my prison, not daring to even raise my head.

At long last, the hellish nightmare appears to be subsiding. The horrific explosions slow, then cease altogether. No dark shapes blacken the sky overhead and only the moon illuminates the dirt at my feet. The gunfire becomes sporadic, lessening from the constant chatter that it had been a short time before. I muster the courage to stand to my feet and peer over the edge of my hole. The tank burns across the clearing. As I listen, the gunfire ceases altogether. In its place, I hear a faint noise. I cock my head to listen. A faint smile crosses my face as I realize its source. The men are cheering.

Sinking down to the bottom of my hole again, I sit with my back against the wall and breathe a sigh of relief. I take off my helmet and wipe the sweat from my brow. I look down at my shaking hands. A sudden thought occurs to me. Digging in my pack, I retrieve a pencil and a small pad of paper. I chew on the eraser. Where to begin? Ah yes. Putting pencil to paper, I begin to write.

* * * * * * *

A war rages around us. Whether we acknowledge it or not, the war certainly exists. It has gone on since the beginning of time and will continue until the end, a colossal struggle between Good and evil that cannot be avoided.

Humans are swept into the battle like leaves caught by floodwaters. They go with the flow, not realizing they have just sided with the enemy and condemed themselves for all eternity.

All would be lost if not for the Captain of the Light. Picking a select number of humans, he freely forgave their treason, showed them the truth of the battle, and gave them new strength to fight the current.

The war continues. Casualties fall like flies, yet the wounds are miraculously never fatal. Fellow soldiers help the fallen up and they are restored stronger than they were before.

We press on. Ultimate victory is assured. We have a Leader whose face shines like the sun.

Men boast of riches, fame or glory. I care little for those things.

I am a soldier of ONE.