The Tragedy of War


In the field, on your toes, eyes always open.Blink, you're dead. Sneeze, your platoon is dead.(Be the perfect soldier — no mistakes.)Constant tension, always ready, alwaysfighting for your life attwenty-three hundred feet per second.(You'll never make it out alive.)
 Going home, adrenaline still coursingthrough a highly efficient machine.Guilt, drowning in guilt of leaving
men closer than brothersin the darkest depthsof hell. (What gives you the right to walk out on them?)
Doesn't sleep. He thinks, he plans.Dozens of escape routes.(No escape from your thoughts.)
Off a plane, embraces smiling wife.Forcing laughter, scanning for threat around every corner. (Stay focused, stay ready.)Tiny child reaches from warm, soft blanket.Complete shock humbles proud soldier, silencingthe mind for one beautiful moment. Familiar bed no longer safe. No nightmareswithout sleep. Tiny voice alerts enemyof his position. Panic rises, training takes over.(Eliminate threat, stay alive.)Firm hand on tiny mouth, tiny lights fadefrom big brown eyes.Silence restored —Safe.(You're never safe.)
 Woman stirs, smiles at her protector. Smile fadesto horror. Sobbing turns to screaming.
(You have no choice. Stay alive.)Terrified soldier pleads for silence. One well-placed strikebrings temporary relief. (I'm still here — you can't escape me.)Permanent silence only comes at twenty-three hundred feet per second.(I told you, you wouldn't make it out alive.)

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