Liam123
08-03-2011, 08:09 AM
He woke with blurry eyes to a world of green khaki. The pounding rain had turned the floor into a pool of stinking mud. As his bed slowly sank, the sound of distant gunfire pounded his restless mind and the sound of choppers refuelling continued all night.
Chas Irvine was 19, a peace activist from Australia, conscripted into an unwinnable war that betrays all he stands for. June 27th, 1967 produced a hot, humid, rainy night in the rainforest that was no different from any other, the restless night lead to yet more thoughts of home, his friends, his family and of course his beliefs which he was constantly reminded of by the copy of the New Testament in his pocket. This was not his home, they were not his family and they were not his friends.
Was there going to be a future for him, he wondered. War seemed so senseless, politicians sending the innocent to die for a cause they hardly knew anything about.
Chas trudged out of his green khaki tent to be doused by the foreign rain he had heard the whole night before. Drops streaming down his face, he made his way to the base for breakfast. “Then Jesus said to him, put your sword back into its place; for those who live by the sword, die by the sword”.
They set off into the humid jungle and soon were engulfed by a foreign world, no sign of civilization anywhere. The only man made thing, a trail snaking its way through the vegetation, littered with shells. He strayed to back of the pack, the silence was unforgiving. An impenetrable wall of green all around, the sound of strange animals and birds making him feel as though he was the hunted and not the hunter, the peace symbol tattooed on his arm graffitied with mud and blood.
Every time the radio crackle broke his concentration on nothingness, his stomach dropped and the butterflies returned. He did not await the anticipation of a “real” soldier. The chance of action or adding another kill to his tally did not appeal to him, his lack of excitement made him feel isolated as the tears of the jungle fell on his face. His feelings formed a pit of deep of inner resentment inside him. “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword."
Multiple times that day he thought of home, the happy times with his friends and family that seemed so long ago. The state of solidarity of the forest behind his home that made him feel wanted, the sunshine that welcomed his skin each morning and the cool winds of autumn kissing his skin.
These happy thoughts were suddenly shattered as a large deep BANG! engulfed his ears and a shower of blood and dirt rained down upon him. The Sergeant ordered everyone to halt and watch the perimeter as the medics tried to stop the bleeding, however all efforts proved futile. One mother would never see her son again. Chas wiped blood and dirt from his eyes and stared at his hands. The relentless rain filled his hands with a crimson soup. He stood stunned; the screams of soldiers around him sounding like a blur, the blood soaking slowly into his bible, staining the pages with the blood of the innocent. A sudden clap of thunder brought him back to reality. As he trudged deeper into the vegetation, the hands of the jungle tour him apart from either side, leaving behind a pool of blood and tattered cloth.
As the amber light behind the cloud cover sunk below the horizon. Chas watched, visualizing home, the warm, golden soil of home. As it passed below the horizon the sense of seclusion shadowed over him once more as the mud pulled him into its depths.
The platoon stopped and set up camp upon a small rise and clearing in the plants. Chas placed his back against a moist tree and the events of the day before played through his mind, the disfigured face of the man killed by the mine, the taste of blood still on his mouth, the constant attack of bugs and the uncanny sense of isolation in a place that is so alive. He pulled out his copy of the bible. The rain made the words illegible, the only recognizable feature were the red stains covering the pages.
As night engulfed the men, some talked as the small orange flame of a cigarette came to the mouth of each of them. The silence of the night gave the men a heightened sense of things, all of them listening, waiting, their gun fixed into the unforgiving darkness. Chas’s gun provided him no comfort however, the gun, protection, instrument of death, cancer, death.
“Then Jesus said to him, put your sword back into its place; for those who live by the sword, die by the sword”.
The small patches of breeze through the dense jungle lifted the fog of humidity, the rain continued to slash the vegetation. The sound reminded him of the downpour on winter’s nights, dousing the dry land with life giving water. The rain here drowned all to punish for the sins committed. As he closed his eyes and listened to his breathing; the only thing keeping him company, the only thing he could control. As he opens his eyes an amber leaf falls on his face, the sun kissing his body and the autumn’s breeze in his hair, he closes his eyes and reopens them once more, and is welcomed by sting of rain on his face and a sense of isolation once more. The feeling of his bible a foreign shape against the soil and his skin. “Do not repay evil with evil.”
Chas Irvine was 19, a peace activist from Australia, conscripted into an unwinnable war that betrays all he stands for. June 27th, 1967 produced a hot, humid, rainy night in the rainforest that was no different from any other, the restless night lead to yet more thoughts of home, his friends, his family and of course his beliefs which he was constantly reminded of by the copy of the New Testament in his pocket. This was not his home, they were not his family and they were not his friends.
Was there going to be a future for him, he wondered. War seemed so senseless, politicians sending the innocent to die for a cause they hardly knew anything about.
Chas trudged out of his green khaki tent to be doused by the foreign rain he had heard the whole night before. Drops streaming down his face, he made his way to the base for breakfast. “Then Jesus said to him, put your sword back into its place; for those who live by the sword, die by the sword”.
They set off into the humid jungle and soon were engulfed by a foreign world, no sign of civilization anywhere. The only man made thing, a trail snaking its way through the vegetation, littered with shells. He strayed to back of the pack, the silence was unforgiving. An impenetrable wall of green all around, the sound of strange animals and birds making him feel as though he was the hunted and not the hunter, the peace symbol tattooed on his arm graffitied with mud and blood.
Every time the radio crackle broke his concentration on nothingness, his stomach dropped and the butterflies returned. He did not await the anticipation of a “real” soldier. The chance of action or adding another kill to his tally did not appeal to him, his lack of excitement made him feel isolated as the tears of the jungle fell on his face. His feelings formed a pit of deep of inner resentment inside him. “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword."
Multiple times that day he thought of home, the happy times with his friends and family that seemed so long ago. The state of solidarity of the forest behind his home that made him feel wanted, the sunshine that welcomed his skin each morning and the cool winds of autumn kissing his skin.
These happy thoughts were suddenly shattered as a large deep BANG! engulfed his ears and a shower of blood and dirt rained down upon him. The Sergeant ordered everyone to halt and watch the perimeter as the medics tried to stop the bleeding, however all efforts proved futile. One mother would never see her son again. Chas wiped blood and dirt from his eyes and stared at his hands. The relentless rain filled his hands with a crimson soup. He stood stunned; the screams of soldiers around him sounding like a blur, the blood soaking slowly into his bible, staining the pages with the blood of the innocent. A sudden clap of thunder brought him back to reality. As he trudged deeper into the vegetation, the hands of the jungle tour him apart from either side, leaving behind a pool of blood and tattered cloth.
As the amber light behind the cloud cover sunk below the horizon. Chas watched, visualizing home, the warm, golden soil of home. As it passed below the horizon the sense of seclusion shadowed over him once more as the mud pulled him into its depths.
The platoon stopped and set up camp upon a small rise and clearing in the plants. Chas placed his back against a moist tree and the events of the day before played through his mind, the disfigured face of the man killed by the mine, the taste of blood still on his mouth, the constant attack of bugs and the uncanny sense of isolation in a place that is so alive. He pulled out his copy of the bible. The rain made the words illegible, the only recognizable feature were the red stains covering the pages.
As night engulfed the men, some talked as the small orange flame of a cigarette came to the mouth of each of them. The silence of the night gave the men a heightened sense of things, all of them listening, waiting, their gun fixed into the unforgiving darkness. Chas’s gun provided him no comfort however, the gun, protection, instrument of death, cancer, death.
“Then Jesus said to him, put your sword back into its place; for those who live by the sword, die by the sword”.
The small patches of breeze through the dense jungle lifted the fog of humidity, the rain continued to slash the vegetation. The sound reminded him of the downpour on winter’s nights, dousing the dry land with life giving water. The rain here drowned all to punish for the sins committed. As he closed his eyes and listened to his breathing; the only thing keeping him company, the only thing he could control. As he opens his eyes an amber leaf falls on his face, the sun kissing his body and the autumn’s breeze in his hair, he closes his eyes and reopens them once more, and is welcomed by sting of rain on his face and a sense of isolation once more. The feeling of his bible a foreign shape against the soil and his skin. “Do not repay evil with evil.”