The Sting of War: A soldiers chronicle

Carl Cario Taawan

Synopsis

This is a story of a soldier's fight for survival and
his search for meaning for his people's endless struggle.

It is my first attempt to create something based on a
true experience of a real person who came from the front
lines of a war torn country.

My own interpretation of a soldier's mindset on the
things he encounters both in reality and in his mind when
facing danger or when at peace. His expressions, his
thoughts, his unexpressed feelings suppressed by the duty
to follow orders.

The main character is nameless for a reason that I
wish to associate him to every soldier. Perhaps somewhere
out there, someone can relate to his experience and the
main character would find his name among them.

























The Sting of War: A soldiers chronicle
Carl Cario Taawan

The earth is cold and the darkness is slowly chasing
the daylight away. No moon tonight and only the stars will
lend us light barely enough to see shadows move. The
endless valley will soon be nothing but a limbo of endless
darkness. Im lying in a dugout trench hiding from those
who have eyes that see at night, gadgets that would put the
eyes of an owl to shame. We were in this hole for one whole
week now since we relieved the company who took over this
battlefield. Now the enemies have retaliated and are
succeeding to take over this so called frontline. Theyve
already established a foothold in the valley and have taken
over almost all of our foxholes.

A bullet whined above my head. I felt something hit my
face. No its not a bullet. Its warm liquid. When I looked
beside me, there lies my comrade. He was my friend since we
started to fight. He saved me once when he shot a man who
tried to kill me. Not in battle but in a brawl when a
soldier of the other side made fun of my family and tried
to shoot me for being the race I am. That enemys blood was
splattered all over me, now its my friends blood that is
all over me. Nineteen-year-old soldier whose fate was
sealed by the enemys bullet.

Then I saw the enemy aiming at me. I ducked in time to
save my head. I raised my gun and squeezed the trigger of
my rifle. I saw him stumble to the ground. One of his
comrades knelt beside him in shock. He cursed and sprayed
his rifle to my direction. I shot him too. I am a better
shooter than him and it saved my life.

Then I also knelt beside my friend calling out his
name hoping he will answer. He is not moving and I know I
lost him. I just sat there inside our hole staring at his
face hoping for a miracle that he would move somehow. But
he was just lying there staring at nothing like the rest of
the men around him who are no longer fighting, their bodies
torn by bullets and grenades. So I just sat there and
stared.

All of the men in my squad are not fighting anymore.
One was shot through his helmet and died instantly. Another
was shot in the chest but still shooting. It needed several
of the enemys bullets to stop him from killing more of
them. Our trench is silent now. Nobody is firing back. Soon
I would be like them too. Footsteps are coming closer. Soon
it would be my time. My rifle wont help me anymore so I
just stared at my friend and waited for my time.

A shadow and then another looked into our hole. I did
not dare look up at my executioners. I just stared at my
friend waiting for the bullet that will end my miserable
life. But it did not come. I looked up and the human shapes
are gone. The night is so still that the ticking of my
watch is as loud as the retreating footsteps that are
slowly fading. As the minutes passed, the sounds of
gunshots also seem to be fading. Several moments ago,
artillery seemed to explode just above my head. But now the
sounds of war too are scared of the coming darkness. In a
few more minutes, everything is blackness and the gunshots
are barely audible.

I took my friends diary from his pocket as he always
told me to do. He wanted his mother to know how he had
lived his life, his very short life that was torn by hatred
between two races. His father was killed by the same people
who sent him to war. Not because his father was a spy but
because he doesnt want to join the war. So they executed
him the way they execute murderers and thieves. Now my
friend is dead too because he joined the war.

I laid my friend next to his rifle and closed his eyes
with my bloodied hand. Took the rest of his remaining
bullets and placed them in my pockets and attacked the
blackness of the night. The darkness will cover my escape
and I must make it to my people before the enemies send
soldiers to occupy our vacated trenches. My heart is aching
for the hundreds of bodies lying around. Just a few days
ago, we were all alive laughing about what to do with our
lives when the war is over.

A movement nearby caught my attention and dived to the
ground. I aimed my rifle but the movement did not present a
threat. A man was moaning and crawling on the ground. I
stood up and followed him. With the light of the stars I
could see his wounded legs. He saw me too and tried to
raise his rifle and aim at me but he was too weak.

I knelt beside him and his face was a shock to me for
I saw the face of my friend, the same age and eyes but
wearing different uniform. I almost swear they are
brothers. For a moment we just stared at each other. Then I
just felt my hands holding my medical kit. I tore his pants
and cleaned his wounds and used all of my bandages to cover
it. I sat him beside a tree and gave him my water and his
rifle. I left him to the mercy of the night hoping he will
be found by his comrades before he bleeds to death.

At midnight, I found the rest of my company. They
stared at me like ghosts who saw another ghost. White faces
turned black from ashes of gunpowder and mud, torn from
running away from the enemys pursuing artillery. They are
surprised to see one of their own still alive from the
front line. At times like this, front liners dont usually
make it through. Then maybe it was luck if there is such a
thing.

In the dead of the night, we walked slowly and
silently avoiding all possible locations of our superior
enemies. A suspicious sound would send us scattering and
hugging the grounds for cover. I can no longer move my feet
because of hunger. When I last ate, I cant remember. We
now have to climb a hill. Half way I tried to raise my
knees but they are so weak. I fell to the ground. How I
just wish to sleep. The cold night is inviting me to just
give it up and lie here forever. Two men grabbed me to help
me stand. No, no. just leave me here my mind is saying
but I cannot say the words. Gently they tried to lift me
up. Come on one of them is saying. We have to move fast,
this place isnt safe yet.

I struggled to stand and was able to walk with the
support of another soldier. Why wont he just leave me here
and save his life? Im just a burden and slow them down.
One man could be a reason for their massacre. Just leave me
here. One after the other, my feet moved and we made slow
progress but we are all moving. The wounded are being
carried or helped by stronger soldiers. One died along the
way but his friend refuses to just leave him behind. So he
carried him constantly resting. His progress made our move
even slower but still the rest of our men did not complain.
We just walked and no longer worried about the noises we
made. Enemies may hear us a mile across but noise
discipline is now the least of our worries. We are now in
our own territory but that doesnt mean we are safe. We
just hope our sniper comrades scattered around will
recognize us in the dark and refrain from shooting.

In the morning, we were picked by our convoy of APCs.
We made it to our headquarters; were given foods, new
supply of ammunitions and medicines. The wounded were taken
to the infirmary moaning in pain. I was assigned to a new
commander since my last one is resting eternally in that
cold valley.

We are ordered to retake the frontlines while the
enemies havent fully established their positions and
prevent them from advancing further. We rested from morning
till late in the afternoon, taken our early dinner and
started our journey back on trucks. Half way we met more of
our men coming from the battle, many are wounded on
stretchers or being helped by comrades. Some look dead but
they are being carried along anyway. Then we continued our
journey back on foot.

At dawn we reached the battlefield. Our snipers were
successful in keeping the enemies from establishing their
positions in our valley. Upon arriving there, weve been
ordered to follow our commanders strategy, something we
didnt like much. All he wanted is to retake the frontline
and doesnt care how many of us are sacrificed. For him,
its more logical to sacrifice the few of us than to
sacrifice our entire race, the so-called minority. To him,
thats the only way for our survival. With lots of our
comrades dying, we braved the battlefields and took care of
the enemies foxholes one by one. Fox holes that used to be
ours. By morning, we were able to retake most of the fox
holes. Our enemies, the superior race that wanted to wipe
us out are sent scampering away, for now. Our death toll,
however, are higher than that of the enemies'. By night
time, the valley is ours once again.

By dawn the next day, we were relieved by another
company to keep the frontlines secured. We were allowed to
get a rest for two days. We made another arduous trek back
to our headquarters with our wounded and dead comrades.

Days and weeks passed and our lives revolved around
that valley we call frontline, a valley full of death where
even our comrades may die from the landmines that we had
planted. If we lose control over that small valley, the
enemy will be able to create roads for their tanks and rid
the valley of mines. That will be a big blow for our
survival.

Our supplies kept coming and doesnt seem to run out.
Maybe we do have supporters from other countries as we were
told. People who do seem to care about our existence that
they dont want us wiped out. I wonder why they dont come
over and help us fight the racists. Or were they just
having fun watching us fight against each other? Can they
gain something from our wars? It seems unlikely that our
war will give those supporters anything in return. But
could it be possible that they donate the weapons for us to
become a stronger opponent so they could sell to the
racists more powerful weapons.

Or perhaps, the rumor is true that people from rich
countries donate to poorer or the so-called third world as
aid and that will be deducted from their taxes. And only
fraction of those declared deductions reached its intended
recipients. But maybe that fraction is whats keeping us
alive. Whether our funds are coming from opportunists, real
philanthropists or people evading taxes, I thank them for
helping us survive.

I keep calling my enemies racists but perhaps on the
other side thats what they call us too. Maybe we were the
ones who started the grudge. Maybe its our ancestors who
betrayed them first that started this fight and it goes on
and on until ones descendant is erased from this planet.
Then somewhere along the way another brother will deceive
his brother starting another feud that will last till only
one is left standing. I started reading all of the books in
our headquarter library to find the answers hoping history
will help me understand our eternal feuds.

It would seem that every feud in history was settled
in wars. Even in the Bible, Esau, one of the Palestinians
forefathers planted enmity between him and his brother
Jacob, the forefather of the Israelites, when the later
took his brothers blessings from their father Isaac
through deception. That started a feud that affected the
entire Middle East and Israel in the past. And it was
reignited again when the country of Israel was formed and
deceptions and cruel tactics from both sides escalated a
hatred that affected peace throughout the world.

Another start of war was when the Moslems waged wars
against their neighbors and their relatives to establish
Islam. Even his own tribe didnt believe in him, but
eventually, Mohammad achieved dominance. Within a few
decades of his death in 632 C.E., Islam had spread as far
as Afghanistan and Tunisia in North Africa. After 50 years,
Islam has penetrated Spain and France. A staggering
achievement for an Arabian prophet living in the sixth and
seventh century, starting a new civilization that will soon
become the second fastest growing religion. And yet feud
existed amongst themselves between the Sunni and the
Shiites over the real successor of Muhammad after his
death. The Sunni accepted the principle of elective office
rather than blood descent from the prophet. The Shiites
believe that true leadership comes through the prophets
bloodline. But Sunnis murdered the lineage of Muhammad,
thus starting feuds amongst the Muslims.

The so called Christians themselves have lots of
reasons to wage wars. The most famous of them all are to
convert the pagan nations into their beliefs and murder the
non-believers. Millions had been killed during the
Crusades. They were only defeated when Saladin declared a
holy war that united all Arab nations. And then the
Christians also had differences amongst themselves that
created feuds and millions were persecuted and murdered.
Until recently, Catholics and Protestants had been fighting
each other in the name of religion even though they have
similar beliefs created in 4
th
century by Constantine. The
doctrines were created in favor of the Holy Roman Empire
basically for political purposes. But their slight
differences in doctrines are enough for them to fight each
other.

The Mongols, simple tent dwelling tribes, waged wars
against China, Persia up to Hungary just to increase their
territories. Japan waged wars against Korea, China and the
entire Southeast Asia with the same reason. England, Spain,
Portugal and many other European countries did likewise.
Same with the ancient history of Rome, Greece and Persia;
all for bigger territories and dominion over men.

Those were their reasons to wage wars and kill other
human beings. Our war doesnt have those reasons. My people
had been fighting our battle for so long now and I still
dont know when it all started. We simply kill each other
because our race is different from theirs. We kill them
because they want to kill us. For us to survive is to kill
them all.

Our world is so different from the world I see on the
television during my periods of rests. They always
advertise useless gadgets and equipments. High tech cell
phones thats worth thousands of dollars, exquisite cars
and lots of other expensive items. Present those to my
comrades over a 10 dollar sharp knife and they would choose
the cheaper knife. We go for items where we can depend our
lives on. Perhaps on the other part of this world, life
depended on those exquisite items.

I was only 15 when I got into this war. Our city was
attacked to be cleansed of our race. My father was killed
saving us. I had to escape on foot. I was separated from my
mother and younger brothers. That was the last time I saw
them. I walked the streets at night avoiding people.
Walking the streets is like walking in a cemetery. The
names of the avenues are named after dead people, dead
heroes and martyrs. And they were also piling up with dead
people.

I managed to leave the City but I was caught in the
borders. The enemies ordered us to bury our dead. They
ordered us to dig a hole, not a small hole but a big one.
Their bulldozers could have easily dug this big hole for
them but they somehow enjoyed watching us dig it ourselves.
We know that this will become our grave so we thought of
escaping. When there was a break in the guards rank, some
tried to make it to the woods. But machineguns took many of
them. I was hoping many have survived.

From this confusion I managed to hide myself among the
dead. By the truckload they started bringing the dead from
the City. Many of those still alive are lined up on the
edge of the hole we dug. Then they were all executed.

I just closed my eyes as their screams filled my ears.
That was the time I wished for a miracle, that the hero I
dreamed about will burn the enemies with fire in his eyes.
But that did not happen and thousands of my countrymen died
just because they have a different race.

I cant remember how long I was in that position but
the dead kept coming and more alive prisoners were killed.
When the soldiers left for the night, I waited a few more
hours before I left. I slowly crawled through the dead
bodies until I reached the edge of the woods. I run as fast
as I can. To where, I dont know. When my tired feet can
barely carry my tired body, I knelt to the ground and wept
silently. I felt like a coward who did not fight those who
massacred my people. I wanted to go back and find the body
of my father, or my mother and younger siblings if theyre
dead too. But I did not dare. I was a coward. I stood up
and walked to nowhere.

Then I saw a house and suddenly felt very hungry. But
there were no lights. It was a farm house. I wanted to
knock but I fear for this could be a house of another
enemy. I went to their barn walking slowly not to wake any
animals, most especially dogs.

I found the chicken house and saw some eggs. I took
them all, 4 of them hoping they were freshly laid by its
hen. I took them away and run back into the forest while
dogs started to bark. Lights were lit and faces peeped out
of the windows but Im already away.

I managed to drink the contents of the eggs and fell
asleep of extreme fatigue. In the morning I was awaken by a
cold steel in my head. The man was speaking the language of
the enemy; he was asking if I was the one who stole his
eggs. I begged him to let me work it out for payment. He
took me in and gave me some food and told me to run away
before soldiers come to his house.

I run to the direction he told me where I can find my
people. I crossed several miles in the bitter winter. The
next day I reached a village of my people. The place is a
ghost town, no one seem to stir. They are all living in
fear. I knocked on a few doors begging for food but they
just closed them back. An enemy has helped me but my own
people dont want to do anything with me.

At last one door opened but he did not invite me in.
He handed me some bread and told me he doesnt have much
left for his family. He told me of a military barracks not
far from the village. I thanked him and walked away.

At the barracks I decided to apply but they did not
want to take me because I was too young. I persisted to
stay and be fed by them. They gave up and included me in
the recruitment. I was sent to the headquarters almost a
days travel, hidden in the forests, the beginning of my
struggle to avenge my family.

After a year I was as popular as the rest for my
skills. I am a good shooter. Few more months, I was
reassigned to the headquarters to fight in the frontlines.
Thats where I will stay for a long time.

Its been a month now since I miraculously survived
the annihilation of my squad. Ive survived this far and
soon I will turn twenty. I had been in this war all
throughout my teenage years. Now Im becoming an adult and
probably spend the rest of my short life in war.

In front of our main building stands a statue of a
legendary general who was the founder of the resistance.
Such a beautiful sculpture created by someone who probably
has nothing else better to do. How could someone spend so
many days to create such an intricate sculpture? Crazy or
not, his creation became the most important symbol in our
headquarters.

Its to him that we salute everyday to thank for our
survival. To some people, they worship things, some just
symbols. The greatest symbol ever created perhaps was the
establishment of the cross as a symbol of faith by
Christendom. The first Christians did not use the cross but
when Rome claimed the religion, they have established a
series of doctrines in 333 to the 400 AD to create the
biggest religion ever made. A simple design that has become
the worlds most popular symbol, ironically established by
the very people who have persecuted the first Christians
and killed the very person they worship.

If my people will survive, will they also carry this
symbol of a great general to tell the world of our reason
of survival? Maybe this statue will soon be buried in this
very mountain and will never become a great symbol like the
cross.

But whatever will be the fate of this statue, its
what gives my people courage. I stood erect and gave a
smart salute.

The frontline belongs to the enemy once again. But
this time we were ordered to take back a village and save
the people taken hostage before they are all executed. In
this mission, we may not survive. We prepared to attack at
night. Night goggles were given to few. Not enough for all
of us but Im lucky to have one, a favor given to crack
shots. I was also given a new weapon, a sniper riffle that
goes with my assault rifle. The scopes red color somehow
gave me some relief. That means I dont have to join the
assault close to the frontline. That means I have bigger
chance to survive.

We boarded our APCs and heeded to the village. After
almost a days travel we reached our observation point on
top of a hill, near the abandoned barracks where I was
recruited years ago. There I scanned the familiar valley,
the same village that didnt want anything to do with me
when I was asking for food. Everything looks so still
below. No movements can be seen. They are all hiding in
fear of bullets from our snipers.

At dawn we attacked, the assault teams went from door
to door looking for an enemy whos still alive. Shots are
fired at random. The house the enemies used as quarters
went up in big explosion. My team was scattered around with
our scopes scanning the area for reinforcements, our shots
too are being fired at random. They found the hostages in
one big house and my team started to advance. Our
assignment now is to protect the village from another
assault.

From somewhere I saw a movement. Hes moving slowly,
maybe one of my team. I aimed my rifle at him just to be
certain. As he gets closer his face was slowly illuminated.
I saw the face of my dead friend; it was the enemy that I
saved days, weeks no a month ago. As he got closer, he was
startled to see me pointing my rifle. He didnt bother to
raise his gun, he knew hes lost. I walked to him and
smiled. I lowered my rifle and he just stared in disbelief.
Maybe he recognized me or maybe just wondering why I am not
ending his life. I was about to tell him to run when all of
a sudden he raised his gun and squeezed the trigger.

I fell to the ground, my mind slow to comprehend what
just took place. There was no pain at first then slowly I
began to long for air. I have to breathe harder. I need
more air. My brain is telling me my lung is collapsing. I
want to scream for help but no sound can come out. I looked
around for the shooter but hes gone. Its getting colder
now. I believe this is what a dying man feels.

So this is how it all ends, all alone in cold dirt and
no one to cry for me. Your life flashes back to you just
before you die they say. But nothing is flashing back. Just
a question thats playing endlessly in my mind, why do I
have to die by the hand of the man I saved once? Whatever
the answer, I will never know.

People always say theres still hope while youre
still breathing. This probably is the only situation that
it doesnt apply. For where can you find hope where death
abounds? Death is the end. But is it true that we go to
heaven after death? Or perhaps live again as a different
being? Is there resurrection? If I do live again, will it
be better than here?

Why do I care? I dont have a choice anyway? And if
theres a god, does he enjoy watching us people fight each
other over race, religion and territory? It all ends now
and I dont want to care anymore. I just closed my eyes
hoping it will end painlessly.

A sound. Am I dead yet? No, I can still hear gunfire
in the distance. Im still alive and someone is moving
around. I opened my eyes and saw a shadow coming. Did the
shooter come back to finish his job? No its unlikely, he
is already far away if he managed to bypass our assault
teams, hell probably make it to his comrades. This is
another person. I struggled to aim my rifle but I cannot
squeeze the trigger. The shadow just stared at me pointing
his rifle to my head. I just lowered my rifle and closed my
eyes waiting for the shot that will end it all.

What is he doing? He took my rifle away from my hands.
I felt his hands opened my coat. I opened my eyes and saw
him clearly up close. Hes one of the enemies and hes
brought out gauze bandages from my own med kit. Why is he
looking at my wounds? He opened my bloodied uniform and
pressed his ear to my chest listening to my breathing. He
took out a long hypodermic needle and inserted it into my
chest. The penetrating needle is excruciating, more painful
than the bullet, which I didnt even feel. I can hear a
hissing sound and felt relieved. I can breathe now. He took
my left hand and placed my finger over the outer end of the
needle and spoke to me clearly in my own language. Just
cover it with your finger. The air pressure builds every 15
minutes. Release it then cover it back up again. He put
gauze bandages over my wounds and placed my right hand over
it. Press here to minimize the bleeding. Your comrades
will find you soon, he said and scurried away with my
rifle.

So was I wrong? There really is hope in a place of
death? I can breath easy now but I am too weak. Ive lost a
lot of blood and all I want is to sleep. But I cant sleep
now. What happens if I dont cover this syringe? Ive
depended all my life with my gun to survive. Its so ironic
that all I needed to survive now is just a syringe needle.
Where does everybody elses life depend on? All I need to
do is look forward to the next fifteen minutes. How long
will this take? Will I last till morning? Maybe someone
will find me if I dont bleed to death first.

I dont know how long it was but I passed out somehow.
Someone is checking on me and speaking my language. I
opened my eyes and saw my teams medic. He just finished
changing the needle into a valve with switch that could be
opened and closed and repeated the same instruction the
enemys medic told me to do. So my life doesnt depend on a
needle anymore but on a valve with a switch. Its an
improvement somehow.

We succeeded in taking over the village. They are now
piling the dead. One of those working with my army is the
one who gave me breads years ago. He passed by and he seem
to have recognized me. He smiled and went his way to carry
another body to be loaded in a wagon. Then I saw the irony
of things. The man who helped me was carrying the body of
the man I once saved, the one who looked like my friend,
the one who shot me. He was probably shot by one of our
snipers somehow. So this is how the dice of life rolls. I
saved him yesterday so that he can kill me today. And
perhaps the one who saved me, I have to kill also tomorrow.
Will it ever end? Maybe there is no end. But there is
always hope right?

Or perhaps my life was just prolonged to die another
day like the enemy I saved. Like Napoleon Bonaparte who
lived in exile in Elba after his marshals mutinied against
him. But yet again, he was given a chance to lead his army
for a 100 days war. In the end, he was defeated in the
battle of Waterloo.

After a month of recuperation, I am ready for another
struggle. I was reassigned as a leader of the sniper squad,
many of whom were my last teammates. The enemies have build
roads accessible to their tanks and they have taken over
the frontlines and got rid of the land mines. Now the
frontline is a mountain that we own and not yet accessible
to their tanks. But it is somehow few miles closer to us.
They are gaining foothold to our territories.

We prepared for another battle. I am now twenty years
old but somehow getting old is not comforting. I made small
celebration a few days ago with my comrades at the same
time for my promotion. We were happy for a day. But for me
its ironic that I was promoted when I was shot. Why not
when I managed to survive the annihilation of my team mates
about two months ago? Perhaps this is also the start of my
one hundred days war or perhaps mine is just 10 days, maybe
just a day.

All of these thoughts dont matter in this part of the
World. We dont have to think, we only need to follow
orders. There are many things I will never know. I only
need to know one thing, and that is how to fight. To my
people, that means a lot.

So we advanced once again to save our comrades in the
frontline that holds the survival of my people. If we lose
this battle, tomorrow, the frontline will be few more miles
closer to us. I picked my backpack and my rifle. Strapped
them both on my shoulders and we began our march. The next
step is always heavier than the last. Each step is taking
me closer to my end, to my death.

At dusk we began the attack. Artillery fires covered
the still valley. Silently our assault teams penetrated the
line and captured one trench hole after another. My sniper
team provided them cover. The infrared scopes helped us see
through the darkness. We advanced forward about a hundred
yards or two behind our assault troops. If our soldiers
will succeed to take over the mountain, tomorrow, we will
put landmines around against the enemys tanks.

My team was scattered thoroughly to cover the
advancing troops.

My eyes were fixed on the scope, my fingers squeezing
the trigger. Any moment soon, perhaps one of them will also
find me in their sights. But until then, I will take all
that I can. Every bullet should count. I am death.