Friendly Fire

My heart tries to pound its way out of my chest. My breathing is quick and ragged. Sweat trickles down my forehead despite the chill air. I wipe it away with an unsteady hand. Clutching my rifle tightly, I peer into the night. A soldier shifts nervously, cracking a stick under his foot. I whip my head around to glare at him before returning my gaze to the darkened forest. Minutes tick by. Perhaps it was only a raccoon. They are nocturnal creatures. It didn't have to be an enemy soldier.

I take a deep breath and let it out shakily. Motioning to the patrol behind me, I quietly press on into the night.

The surprise armor assault had hit my section of the line extraordinarily hard. Of the twenty-eight men in my platoon, eighteen had been killed or wounded. Reinforcements had arrived promptly, but all were fresh out of basic training. They were little more than boys. Still wet behind the ears. Not guaranteed to stand in the heat of battle. I had been raised to a sergeant and told to keep an eye on the new arrivals.

Our platoon commander had been killed in the attack as well. My new CO, an ambitious but naive lieutenant, had ordered a patrol to assess the enemy's strength on our section of the line.

So this is how I find myself sneaking through the night with five trigger-happy boys behind me. Suicide.

The wind gusts suddenly, bringing a faint sound. I freeze. Nothing. I listen nervously. There it is again! It sounds like human speech. Dropping to all fours, I crawl forward silently. The patrol follows.

A moment later, a large building is visible through the trees. It appears to be a command center. I can see enemy soldiers going in and out constantly. There must be a large concentration of troops in this area. I watch for a few moments, making notes. In a short time, I get a good idea of the enemy's strength on this part of the line.

Motioning silently to the boys behind me, I retreat back towards our line in the same stealthy manner. We are within a few hundred yards of our line now. I begin to breathe a little easier. Surely we're safe no----

Tracers arc through the night as gunfire rips apart the silence. The branches over my head splinter. I dive to the ground. One of the boys behind me cries out and falls backwards. The rest drop flat, yelling incoherently.

I shout in fear and rage as the bullets streak through the air over me.

"CEASE FIRE!!! We are friendlies! For goodness sake, cease fire!!"

A moment later, the gunfire quiets. I rise unsteadily to my feet and look back at my patrol. Four boys clamber up shakily. One lies unnaturally still. I grit my teeth and look towards our line. A group is gathering. A young recruit stands before his foxhole, his weapon trailing in the dust. I can clearly see the agony on his face as he realizes what he has done.

Tears fill my eyes and I set my jaw as I turn away. Friendly fire. The worst kind of casualty.

* * * * *

Wars are never pleasant. No one enjoys the pain and anguish that such conflicts bring. Soldiers respond to the agony differently. Some draw more deeply from the King's Word and use it to salve their wounds. Others turn their pain onto those around them, taking their suffering out on those they love.

The enemy enjoys hurting soldiers in whatever way he can. He especially enjoys it when soldiers do his job for him by harming each other.

Suffering is a hard thing to bear. It can sometimes be easy for soldiers to let the pain distract them from the reality that their loved ones are not their enemy. Sometimes they rip into their friends and family with their words and deeds, acting out of their hurting hearts. They do not realize the damage they are causing.

Such casualties are a waste. Friendly fire is a horrible thing.

My comrades, I know the suffering you are experiencing. Pain is hard to bear. Yet the King is able to salve your wounds. Take your pain to Him. Do not let your suffering blind you to the realities of friend and enemy. Do not take down your loved ones with friendly fire.

My Captain, watch over my words and actions.