A cry of “Allah u Akbar” rolls through the lines as I step down and join the ranks of my fellow comrades. We are ready to regain what is rightfully ours. We are prepared; we wait.
The streets on either side of us have been reduced to rubble. The path in front of us, a muddy swamp littered with craters; hidden by the morning mist which still hung low over us clouding our vision. The smell of fire and smoke slid through our noses as civilians burn clothes to cook their food. A deafening silence falls over us as we wait for the first sign of the enemy. You could feel the tension in the air. My ragged clothes were ripped and wet leaving me shivering. After a while a bottle of water was passed around. We were all hungry and thirsty. Our last meal was yesterday morning and no one knew if there was to be another.
Sharp rain begins to fall as the familiar whistling of shells, pierce the antagonizing silence, I instinctively duck and fall into a crater; a painful reminder of earlier bombings. Mud seeps through my already freezing clothes, slipping through my clothes like snakes deliberately holding me down. The piercing rain slices through my skin like needles, each stinging more than the last. All around me homes are being destroyed by the shells. My brothers are being mowed down by machine guns.. ‘My home town has been reduced to a battlefield’, I think to myself, I have to do this; for the sake of my country.
I force myself to my brothers; blocking out all my thoughts and focusing on the task. I creep forward followed by the remaining soldiers. We silently line up; facing the enemy; our haunted faces do not betray us. There is no emotion. We are ready for this. Each of us has left fathers, mothers, brother, sisters and friends in this uprising. We sneak forward through the ruined streets the air alive with enemy gunfire. The burning smoke burns our eyes. We walk on, guns at the ready, heads held high, knowing are doing the right thing. We are killing for our country. We are killing for freedom. We are…
A sudden burst of gunfire puts me back into action. I shoot at the enemy; the same enemy that had taken my little brother. We advance slowly destroying the opposition; destroying because for once it’s the right thing to do. The only thing I can do. We relieve our guns of their bullets, whipping out fiery bullets which take life after life. I continue to fire at the enemy; killing for my little brother. The enemy start to part before us as we advance, but it isn’t enough. For every soldier we kill another two take his place. Our advancement ends abruptly as my men start to drop, each letting out a cry, wrenched out of their throats. Nevertheless I carry on. If I am to die I will take as much of them as I could with me. So far the nearest I’d gone to getting hit, was when a bullet passed directly over my shoulder adding another tear to my clothes. However my luck runs out soon enough.
It’s a clean shot through my stomach, forcing me down to the blood soaked ground. Blood sprays out my stomach adding to the river of crimson which flows below. I look around me; the bodies of my comrade are spread across the street. Some dead, some dying. Scared faces of those who are left look down at me, hoping I can find a way for them to see their families again. But the destruction continues. Bodies are ripping apart. Hands are blown of their desperate owners. Blood sprays across my face as another brother dies. It is one big horrific replay and it will keep on playing.
As I close my eyelids for the last time; I realise I may not do anything physically; I may just be a number greater on the death tolls; my grave may just be an unmarked grave; my body may be left to rest in complete secret; but I know and I believe. I believe that my beautiful Lord will one day grant us freedom.
I have just enough strength to reach for my dear brother’s photo and clutch it tightly to my chest. I begin to give in to the weariness and think my final thoughts;
‘We WERE the rebels. We WERE the innocent. We WERE the wronged. WE ARE THE HEROES. THE TRUE HEROES
