Hello friends!
Two months have gone by since the last WEP. Here we are again, nearing the end of the year.
October is our scream-fest, but it doesn't have to be if horror isn't your thing.
Talking about horror, most of us watched in horror at the allies' retreat from Afghanistan after 20 years of occupation. Images of those poor people running in front of departing aeroplanes is seared into our collective memory.
I'm telling this story before it's completely out of date. The story of an Australian soldier who failed to understand the challenges of going on patrol in Kandahar province, the area where the Australians were stationed.
I gleaned most of this story through research (I've written a book set in Afghanistan, as yet unpublished) and sprinkled it with a lot of imagination, thinking it suits The Scream for sure.
THE CHILD
My
first mission in Afghanistan. As we marched out in single file, my head thumped
with the headache from hell. Ahead, the desert, pitch-black, silent. The only
sound the Call to Prayer ringing across the Baluchi Valley, punctuating the
silence with staccato bursts. The feral dogs joined in and soon their barking matched
the cacophony of sound.
I
struggled through cool sand, so thick around my ankles it sucked at my
regulation boots.
I followed
the soldier in front of me, his form a shadow in the darkness. Exhaustion
threatened to overwhelm me. I’d had no sleep the night before, so terrified was
I at the spectre of marching into the unfamiliar mountains and deserts of Kandahar
province in one of the most treacherous countries on earth. The lead soldiers
were obviously a lot fitter than I, a newly arrived recruit. I fought the sand –
my knees screamed, my thighs burned, my lungs were on fire.
I was
in another world, a world where I’d been warned that nothing was as it
appeared.
Who
was friend?
Who
was foe?
Making the wrong choice could result in death.
I was
on covert foot patrol with Australian and Afghan soldiers. We were outside the wire, scaling rocky hills
under the pressing weight of body armor and supplies. The altitude was an
unwelcome foe. I hadn’t had time to acclimatise to the blistering temperatures.
I tripped
and fell onto my knees, thankful that the sand cushioned the fall.
No one
stopped to help me. On patrol, to stop would jeopardise the mission. I dragged my
feet from the sand and hurried back to my position. No princesses here! In
uniform everyone is treated the same.
How I
prayed for sunrise.
~*~
After
what seemed like hours, the lead soldier signalled with his crooked finger,
pointing to our surroundings, then holding a finger to his lips. Word whispered
down the line. Silence. Kuchi camps. Bedouins.
We
moved on again, soundlessly into the night, every sense screaming.
‘Police
checkpoint’, someone whispered.
In
briefing I’d been told even if we had nothing to hide, these checkpoints were
best avoided.
No one
even breathed as we crouched and duck-walked close to the ground, swinging our
weapons from side to side, holding tight, hoping to elude the inevitable searchlight.
A
screech, a huge spotlight shone down on us, blinding us in white light.
Someone
screamed ‘Drescht! (Stop!)’. We froze, startled deer, clutching weapons
to our chests.
Two
policemen yelled at us in a language I didn’t understand, but the meaning was
clear. They motioned us to our feet.
We stood.
Statues. I fought to control my bladder. We could be shot right where we stood.
Our
leader yelled, ‘Australians!’
The
police muttered to each other, came close, pointed weapons in our faces, checked
papers, nodded, then motioned us on.
Shaken,
we headed further into the desert darkness.
‘The
guards were skittish because just yesterday they confronted insurgents in
Kakarak across the river. Shots were exchanged,’ hissed the soldier behind me.
‘Thanks,’
I muttered, but it didn’t comfort me. My eyes saw insurgents behind the rocks,
across the river, in the mountains.
I was
weak with terror after my first date with danger. My legs collapsed. I fell out
of line. Sat down in a dry gully, sucked air into my parched lungs.
Back
on my feet, I rushed to join the line again, terrified of being left behind.
~*~
Sunrise.
A
glorious orange orb broke over the mountains, into the valley, and lit up the
shock of green land we were heading toward, the green belt.
In the
near distance I saw a small boy, no more than six years old, shepherding his
family’s goats through the pastures. He could be my son, but my little boy
slept in cosy comfort, surrounded by stuffed toys and his father’s love. More children
hid shyly in the doorways of simple rammed-earth homes.
Watching.
Watching. Watching.
First
stop. A meeting with the elders of the tribe. They were guarded, constantly
looking to see if they were being observed. Not everyone would be happy to see
them talking to Australian soldiers. They risked death for having a
conversation with us. We kept it short to minimise the danger, then moved on.
Over broken
bricked walls, through crumbling aqueducts, we waded towards the village of
Sorkh Morghab where coalition forces had built a school, market and medical
centre. Yet, despite all our efforts, I’d been told it was hostile.
We
wandered through the village, apparently casually, weapons held across our
chests, trigger fingers ready. We progressed through the market area, where
men and young boys showed us their shops and tried to sell me a burqa. I was
just a woman, one who needed to cover herself.
One
little boy approached me, hand outstretched. He, too, about six years old. I
thought again of my son, but this little boy’s eyes reflected a man, an angry
man. I shivered at the hate in those big black eyes.
A
soldier pulled me backward. ‘Step away,’ he said. ‘Nothing is as it seems.’
I
brushed him off. Reached into my pocket. Pulled out two lollies for the poor
little boy. He was only a child.
The
child smiled a toothy smile, but it didn’t reach his old man eyes. He dived
into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a large apple.
We smiled
at each other in what was a very easy but powerful gesture. No words needed.
I saw
the apple had gone black with age and looked rough and mouldy. It looked like a
… it couldn’t be...
~*~
‘Nooooooooooo
…’ someone screamed, a voice full of pain and regret.
I felt
the fire on my lips, the fire in my belly.
I
tasted the fire as it burned down my throat.
I
heard voices and the staccato bursts of gunfire.
I
heard the cry of a child.
Then I
heard … nothing.
THE END
TAGLINE: Trust is not a given. Sometimes you reach for an apple and are handed a grenade.
WORDS: 997
FCA
Thank you for reading my entry for The Scream Please click on names in my sidebar to read more entries in this writing competition.
Please consider joining us for the final challenge for the year - Narcissus
A powerful story with a horrific ending, I can almost smell the smoke and despair. 👏👏👏
ReplyDeleteWelcome back Debbie! Great to have you on board this month! Yes, me too. What a smell! The fear and despair!
DeleteNothing is as it seems indeed. Sadly I fear this tale is unlikely to go out of date any time soon.
ReplyDeleteSadly I think you might be right Sue.
DeleteHi Denise - I was and am going to say the same as EC 'nothing is as it seems' ... such a good story to bring here ... we can only imagine life in war - and you've really brought it to life - especially as a woman in those places. It will go on without us being there ...
ReplyDeleteThat child ... just desperate to consider, let alone think about.
Excellently told - all the best - Hilary
Thanks Hilary for your thoughtful comment.
DeleteThank you Denise. yes the Taliban immediately seem to come to mind as the last 30 years have been stamped by the horrors lived by the people in Afghanistan. Liked your story very much and the Australian soldier's insight into this never ending civil war.
ReplyDeleteThanks Susan. Somehow don't think we've heard the last of the Taliban.
DeleteWhat a powerful story. I loved that you chose to spotlight being a soldier in Afghanstan and didn't shy away from a truth for some of them.
ReplyDeleteThanks Natalie.
DeleteIncredible imagery. Such a sad story that is hardly a story at all, but a true moment.
ReplyDeleteYes Steph a snapshot of the horror of war.
DeleteMy heart! Such a well-told tale with so much emotion. Well done!
ReplyDeleteThanks Jemi. Oh my heart all right.
DeleteVery visual. The imagery was spot on. The climactic ending was painful and struck a chord. Very well written story, Denise.
ReplyDeleteThanks Neel.
DeleteA wrenching tale, Denise. Great job.
ReplyDeleteThanks Lee.
DeleteWow. I knew this wasn't going to end well, but still the ending took my breath away. Sad but powerful!
ReplyDeleteWas a scream all right. Thanks.
DeleteSuch a tragic story. The entire country of Afghanistan comes through in it. So much hatred. So much pain.
ReplyDeleteThat there is Olga.
DeleteThis is horrifying and heart-wrenching. The situation in Afghanistan is terrible, and you've done a great job of capturing that.
ReplyDeleteThanks Laura. Glad you got it.
DeleteMisplaced trust, terrible pain and sadness. Really excellently written Denise. You took us completely with you into a believable tragedy.
ReplyDeleteThanks Carole.
DeleteWow! I think this is the best thing you've ever written. I was right there with her when the kid pulled out a bomb.
ReplyDeleteNancy
Hmm. Best thing eh? Maybe I should expand it.
DeleteSo intense and moving. I was with you all the way. A great piece of writing.
ReplyDeleteThanks Lenny. I'm glad you came along with me.
DeletePowerful and horrific. Unlikely to become outdated for a long time, Denise. What can one say? Weaponising children and dragging them into adult conflicts is one of the worst things humans do.
ReplyDeleteI agree, Nila. Sometimes in war, anything goes. Sadly.
DeleteHi,
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written. A bit of wisdom _ be careful who you trust.
Shalom aleichem
Thanks Pat. So true.
DeleteSadly, I'm sure that happened more than once.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure it did.
DeleteYour story captures the tense atmosphere brilliantly. I loved the surprise of finding she is a woman. About the writing process, it was courageous of you to write it in first person and it's a testament to your skill that it worked.
ReplyDeleteI think it called for first person to capture her experience. Thanks.
DeleteAs I read this, I was there in Afghanistan, my heart expecting a different ending. Because I didn't realize it was familiar until the end. That horrific end. Just so well done!!!! Heartbreaking!!!!
ReplyDeleteThanks Renee. All too true.
DeleteInteresting and horrifying at the same time.
ReplyDeleteThanks. Glad you found it interesting.
DeleteReally liked your story. It felt like a memoir until the explosive ending. Well done!
ReplyDeleteThanks Sharon. Well I guess it sounds memoir-ish.
DeleteWOW, Denise... that was INTENSE!!!!!! A great build-up to your story with a tragic but surprising end.
ReplyDeleteThanks Michael. It was INTENSE, wasn't it?
DeleteThat was so powerful, and so tragic! You brought the scene alive by your words, Denise. How sad life is for people living in such places, isn't it? Or, is it even life?
ReplyDeleteGood question. Not life as we know it.
DeletePowerful story. The ending is heart-breaking—the horror of what is happening there, destroying children to attack outsiders… ugh. And the loss of trust is the worst.
ReplyDeleteA minor critique: in your first paragraph you have both near-silence and a cacophony.
Thanks Rebecca. I'll take a look.
DeleteWow! Very well done. Your writing moved me. I like your style.
ReplyDeleteLove,
Janie
Thanks Janie.
DeleteOh, crikey, Denise, that was scary enough without the ending :O
ReplyDeleteYou're brave writing a story set in Afghanistan, but then again, it's always changing so it's always going to be relevant or recent memory. :(
Sorry to scare you Jemima. Afghanistan fascinates me.
DeleteWow. Such a strong ending. Excellent story to remind me that life could be worse.
ReplyDeleteLife could indeed be worse, Jamie.
DeleteThis packed a punch, Denise. You take an unflinching look at some of the saddest stories of our times, and use a POV that takes us right in there. And the ending left an impact. Sorry I'm late here--this story will stay with me for a while.
ReplyDeleteThanks Damyanti...
DeleteTwo words. Intense. Good.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Holly!
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