TheBearJew
05-19-2011, 06:23 AM
A car alarm blared in this distance. Standing over the three dead bodies, he recalls his final hike in training.
They’ve stopped like they always do: after every hour, after approximately seven kilometers of walking. Time is a quandary, and he is unsure how many hours have passed since they set out. Nine, ten, eleven? His legs cry out, aching for him to shuffle into a more comfortable position. The straps of the jerrycan burrow into his chest, and he cringes with regret at his hasty volunteering to shoulder its weight. Staring grimly at the seconds ticking down on his watch, he cringes at the thought of standing up again, preferring even the uncomfortable crouch position to moving again. His watch finally reading 00:00:00, he and his platoon all stand up and return robotically to their two lines, making sure to keep fair distance between one another. They continue walking, like they always do.
He remembers staring at the hummer following them as he walked, prepared to carry the injured or weak. The temptation of faking injury was difficult to fight. He’s not quite sure why he never did. During the first hikes, embarrassment was the largest deterrent, but by now, each had seen his peer in moments of such shameless vulnerability that such juvenile sentiments were beneath them. Throughout the hike, he’d consider such matters to keep his mind off of the difficulty. The pain. The boredom. No talking was allowed, and few sights to be seen in the rocky desert they trudge through, which never seemed to change in form.
Often on these hikes, he would unearth truths of epiphanic proportions. He would ponder religion and sports, love and world news, and even then, would run out of topics for contemplation. Other times, he’d focus on more trivial tasks; counting to ten thousand, naming the countries of the world. Whatever, as long as it kept his mind off of the real task at hand.
Though comical is a difficult word for him to use at such a time, it is too fitting to discard when debating the mere possibility of training for combat. The concept of training someone to make decisions so instantaneous yet so final? Comical. The mere possibility of a man being prepared to see such calamity and simply continue? Comical. Was it conceivable that the educational moral lessons they were taught in the classroom would be employed in those few seconds where time moved too fast to think? Laughable.
Yet, somehow, he hadn’t hesitated. Not for a moment. His training had kept him focused, automatically knowing the next step. Each of the thousands of exercises he’d participated in proved their necessity that day, that minute, in that span of just a few seconds.
Now, all clear, he sat down beside the bodies in a daze. He was afraid to analyze his actions, fearful of discovering that he had erred. Support was on its way. Ambulances, jeeps. They would judge him, his actions, the choices he had made. And though he recognized the necessity to review his actions and iron out his story, he was afraid.
The reports were clear: a team living in that building shot rockets into Israeli territory on a daily basis. Their culpability was indisputable. According to the reports, this had been going on for weeks, months. Their names were listed. One was released from Israeli prison just two years prior. He had entered a house in an Israeli settlement with a knife in an attempt to kill whoever he could. Or scare them. Who knows? He was heard upon his entry, and the father of the household, a former Paratrooper, easily forced him to the ground, and alerted the police. The other two were relative unknowns.
Their mission was simple. Watch the area where the tunnel was expected to be, and wait for them to show up. Then arrest them. Bring them in to be interrogated.
They waited in position to ambush for ten days until the terrorists showed up. Squads were be switched for rest every three days, and while guarding, one of the four could rest.
The radio buzzed. Cameras reported movement in the nearby sector. They moved quickly. Their targets in sight, they reported such to headquarters, and asked for permission to strike. Negative. They were told to wait in position. A shot went off in the distance, easily distinguished as a warning shot when the team of three terrorists quickly turned and left.
The squad on guard was disappointed, but was used to it.
Weeks later, the company commander was told that he was to send a squad to infiltrate the building, and arrest the team of three. The mission was straightforward: Enter, arrest, escape.
And on that day, his squad was chosen to lead. He entered the building second, quickly backing up against a wall. Suddenly, nearby shots were heard, and, their ears exploded with sound, the blast reverberating inside their head. He turned towards the direction of the shooter, and leaving his cover, fired two shots, and the shooter dropped to the floor. They reported on the radio that they’d been fired at, and requested tank support. Negative, they were told, and they continued to clear the rooms on the first floor, before preparing to head upstairs.
Climbing up the steps, they heard movement. Quickly shuffling towards the sound they found three more individuals, unarmed. Guns aimed in their direction, they forced them into a corner, handcuffing them with plastic handcuffs. A shuffling was heard from a room nearby, and he left with one other went to check it out. One was left in the room to watch the captives, and the fourth to watch his back.
As they came closer to the doorless room, a man and woman jumped out, and reacting quickly, he opened fire. Both quickly collapsed.
They finished clearing the house, corralling four more captives in the process. Of the seven captives, there were three women and two children. The captives yelled, and the soldiers back at them, shoving and hitting the uncooperative. The three bodies were piled on the sidewalk and he sat down beside them. Thinking.
The reactions were typical. Israel justified his actions. The Arab world cried for punishment. The media was split, and the UN condemned Israel for killing an innocent woman. The world would ask if he was right or wrong and swiftly reach conclusions that night at their dinner tables, in their living rooms, at their desks.
Yet before all of that, he sat there, awaiting the arrival of the jeeps and ambulances, listening to the car alarm. And arriving at no such conclusions. For the world, the answer was clear. But for him, it felt as far off as the car alarm, roaring away in the distance.
They’ve stopped like they always do: after every hour, after approximately seven kilometers of walking. Time is a quandary, and he is unsure how many hours have passed since they set out. Nine, ten, eleven? His legs cry out, aching for him to shuffle into a more comfortable position. The straps of the jerrycan burrow into his chest, and he cringes with regret at his hasty volunteering to shoulder its weight. Staring grimly at the seconds ticking down on his watch, he cringes at the thought of standing up again, preferring even the uncomfortable crouch position to moving again. His watch finally reading 00:00:00, he and his platoon all stand up and return robotically to their two lines, making sure to keep fair distance between one another. They continue walking, like they always do.
He remembers staring at the hummer following them as he walked, prepared to carry the injured or weak. The temptation of faking injury was difficult to fight. He’s not quite sure why he never did. During the first hikes, embarrassment was the largest deterrent, but by now, each had seen his peer in moments of such shameless vulnerability that such juvenile sentiments were beneath them. Throughout the hike, he’d consider such matters to keep his mind off of the difficulty. The pain. The boredom. No talking was allowed, and few sights to be seen in the rocky desert they trudge through, which never seemed to change in form.
Often on these hikes, he would unearth truths of epiphanic proportions. He would ponder religion and sports, love and world news, and even then, would run out of topics for contemplation. Other times, he’d focus on more trivial tasks; counting to ten thousand, naming the countries of the world. Whatever, as long as it kept his mind off of the real task at hand.
Though comical is a difficult word for him to use at such a time, it is too fitting to discard when debating the mere possibility of training for combat. The concept of training someone to make decisions so instantaneous yet so final? Comical. The mere possibility of a man being prepared to see such calamity and simply continue? Comical. Was it conceivable that the educational moral lessons they were taught in the classroom would be employed in those few seconds where time moved too fast to think? Laughable.
Yet, somehow, he hadn’t hesitated. Not for a moment. His training had kept him focused, automatically knowing the next step. Each of the thousands of exercises he’d participated in proved their necessity that day, that minute, in that span of just a few seconds.
Now, all clear, he sat down beside the bodies in a daze. He was afraid to analyze his actions, fearful of discovering that he had erred. Support was on its way. Ambulances, jeeps. They would judge him, his actions, the choices he had made. And though he recognized the necessity to review his actions and iron out his story, he was afraid.
The reports were clear: a team living in that building shot rockets into Israeli territory on a daily basis. Their culpability was indisputable. According to the reports, this had been going on for weeks, months. Their names were listed. One was released from Israeli prison just two years prior. He had entered a house in an Israeli settlement with a knife in an attempt to kill whoever he could. Or scare them. Who knows? He was heard upon his entry, and the father of the household, a former Paratrooper, easily forced him to the ground, and alerted the police. The other two were relative unknowns.
Their mission was simple. Watch the area where the tunnel was expected to be, and wait for them to show up. Then arrest them. Bring them in to be interrogated.
They waited in position to ambush for ten days until the terrorists showed up. Squads were be switched for rest every three days, and while guarding, one of the four could rest.
The radio buzzed. Cameras reported movement in the nearby sector. They moved quickly. Their targets in sight, they reported such to headquarters, and asked for permission to strike. Negative. They were told to wait in position. A shot went off in the distance, easily distinguished as a warning shot when the team of three terrorists quickly turned and left.
The squad on guard was disappointed, but was used to it.
Weeks later, the company commander was told that he was to send a squad to infiltrate the building, and arrest the team of three. The mission was straightforward: Enter, arrest, escape.
And on that day, his squad was chosen to lead. He entered the building second, quickly backing up against a wall. Suddenly, nearby shots were heard, and, their ears exploded with sound, the blast reverberating inside their head. He turned towards the direction of the shooter, and leaving his cover, fired two shots, and the shooter dropped to the floor. They reported on the radio that they’d been fired at, and requested tank support. Negative, they were told, and they continued to clear the rooms on the first floor, before preparing to head upstairs.
Climbing up the steps, they heard movement. Quickly shuffling towards the sound they found three more individuals, unarmed. Guns aimed in their direction, they forced them into a corner, handcuffing them with plastic handcuffs. A shuffling was heard from a room nearby, and he left with one other went to check it out. One was left in the room to watch the captives, and the fourth to watch his back.
As they came closer to the doorless room, a man and woman jumped out, and reacting quickly, he opened fire. Both quickly collapsed.
They finished clearing the house, corralling four more captives in the process. Of the seven captives, there were three women and two children. The captives yelled, and the soldiers back at them, shoving and hitting the uncooperative. The three bodies were piled on the sidewalk and he sat down beside them. Thinking.
The reactions were typical. Israel justified his actions. The Arab world cried for punishment. The media was split, and the UN condemned Israel for killing an innocent woman. The world would ask if he was right or wrong and swiftly reach conclusions that night at their dinner tables, in their living rooms, at their desks.
Yet before all of that, he sat there, awaiting the arrival of the jeeps and ambulances, listening to the car alarm. And arriving at no such conclusions. For the world, the answer was clear. But for him, it felt as far off as the car alarm, roaring away in the distance.