These morbid thoughts rush through my mind. I shake them off. No time for self-pity. No time for regret. I'm in a helicopter, ready to parachute right into the raging battle below. I can hear the thundering booms of heavy artillery. Tightening my shoulder straps, a comforting hand rests on my shoulder. It's my lifelong friend, James Williams. We are as close as brothers, going through thick and thin. He gives me a reassuring, if weary, smile. Neither of us is looking forward to this. I return his smile and embrace him, then walk towards the gaping opening at the side of the helicopter. Our captain, a hard, uncompassionate man by the name of Evan Johnson glares at me and gestures at us to get moving. That man is in charge of a squad of a dozen crack troops and is well suited for the task. He never seemed to care for his troops a single bit, waking us up at 5 in the morning just to do a million push-ups. I detested him. He stood by the side, as rigid and dispassionate as a statue, as I jump out of the helicopter.
As i plummet downwards, I feel adrenaline rush through me. The wind stings my eyes as I plunge into the fiery hell that lay below. I pull at my parachute strap and my parachute opens. As I approach the ground, I hear the sounds of live artillery, men screaming, explosives defonating. I focus on my mission, pushing all thoughts aside. Here, only the strongest survive.
As soon as i touch the ground, I severe my parachute straps and dive for the nearest trenches. The trenches were full of mud and corpses, and I feel like regurgitating my breakfast. I huddle down with my rifle. Around me, bullets whizz past and grenades explode. Shrieks of the wounded and dying fill the air. I glance around at the soldiers around me and look at their weary, frightened countenances. This is not what the recruiting officers had told us. There is no such thing as glory in war.
"Winston!" Somebody suddenly tumbles into the trench. It is James.
"This place is a mess," James yelled over the clatter of machine guns. I nod, unable to speak. My throat is parched. There is a ear-splitting explosion, followed by a scream. I turn to look. I wish I hadn't. A soldier has been blown to bits by a grenade. I turn away, bile rising in my throat.
I raise my head to look over to enemy territory. Barbed wire everywhere in the no-man's land. Shells whistle and hit the ground, causing clouds of dust to appear. I am certain that there are mines there too. I grit my teeth and swallowed in trepidation.
"Winston!" James hollers. I trudge over, boots sloshing in the quagmire. "We attack the enemy position in three minutes!"
"That's crazy! They've got machine guns and artillery! Who's the idiot that commanded this?!" I exclaim in disbelief.
"I don't know! We'll be slaughtered!" James sighs wearily.
I look at him and he at me. We embrace again.
"Remember our oath: look out for each other, and we might just survive." James mutter
"After all, if we die we die for our country." James smiles faintly. Ah yes, dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
That will be the longest three minutes of my life. These just could be my last. A whistle blows. War cries holler, shots being fired. Rifles being raised. Prayers being made. Teeth clenched, knees shaking, I pull myself out of the trench and advance towards death.
The route is horrible and bloody. Soldiers being torn apart by bullets and blown to bits by mortars. I raise my rifle and fire several shots, rewarded by the sight of an enemy falling. No remorse, no guilt. Only weariness, anger and pain. I advance past bodies, past mines, past grenades, with James by my side.
A black object flies past. A grenade. James doesn't see it. It would be too late if he does. I make a heroic decision in that split second. I dive and push him out of the way. A searing pain shoots through my legs as the grenade detonates. I lie on the ground, badly wounded. James is fine. He stands up, locking eyes with mine. He will make good his side of his promise, wouldn't he? He looked at me. He turned and ran on.
Disbelief courses through me. That must have been a hallucination! He will not abandon me. I stare numbly at two charred stumps: what was supposed to be my legs. But it is true. He abandoned me to die. I watch him run, I watch him get shot. His body jerks and spasm. I watched him fall to his knees, as though in prayer. I watch him die. Hot tears blur my vision. Impossible. Him. Dead. I start to weep for a person who I thought was my friend. I want to die.
Someone scoops me up. Captain Evan Johnson. I'm just totally puzzled. Covered in blood, he limps with me in his arms back to the trenches. Nearly there. Ten metres. Five. Three. He suddenly jerks and his body goes rigid. He collapses, and starts to cough out blood. The bullet lodged in his chest. He looks at me wearily, the coldness in this stare gone. He wheezes.
"Why... Why did you save me?" I blubber.
"An officer... always looks out... for his men... lad... You... have your life ahead of you... Use... use it wisely... it is a gift... From me to you... Remember... the fallen..."
With that he shoves me into the trench. I will never forget his words. His unfocused, calm eyes as his head hits the ground, unconscious. Evan Johnson, had died.
I started weeping. I started weeping for James. I started weeping for Captain Johnson. I started weeping for all the soldiers, giving their lives for a senseless dispute. A medic comes up to me. I will live, but the memories of the horrible war that will eventually claim millions of lives will leave me emotionally dead. Dead on the battlefield.
It was a lie: Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori. Where was the sweetness in killing?
I would live, but I had died.
-Joel Lee
Kudos to Joel for writing this essay (Yes that was the highest in class). After learning more about this type of thing, I fully realise the bad stuff about wars. Before this I always thought war was sorta like something like for fun, like a game of Halo or some sort. However history has proven time and again that revenge does not solve all problems, it just makes them worse, and sadly, thickens out history books.
