Marching On

Tragedy. That was the first thought that came to mind as a team of soldiers trudged through the destruction. There were no paved roads, just dirt floors that would blow up dust with each gust of wind. The small homes that made up the town were now in rubble among bodies. Smoke was still billowing from the structures, blocking the soldiers view of anything in front of them. They were all on high alert, their guns at the ready, as they slowly wandered around the rubble to look for survivors. They couldn't believe their eyes when they spotted the bombs crashing down on the poor town. All the innocent civilians were blown away; no survivors from what they could tell.

Blood was the mark of death on every piece of rubble, every grain of dirt, every fearful face. Mothers had died with their bodies covering their children, husbands died holding their wives, and the children, the soldiers could see, had died holding something... anything.  Some still bore the look of terror in their open, dead eyes, blood leaking from noses and ears and eyes and mouths... That's all the soldiers seemed to see; the blood. They stood straight but respectfully. Some of the men turned their heads away from the sight of death while others hid their tears or joked to hide their pity. It's what they felt they had to do because they were in the war after all. There was no time for sadness, no time for love, no time to smile because that time they took, could kill them. The men scattered about the destruction to dig around the rubble that was piled on top of people. They uncovered bodies, heaps of them, all dead. Up ahead, one of the soldiers stalked toward something he had spotted. All at once, the rest of the team stopped what they were doing, hoping he had found a survivor.

A man named Reeds collapsed to his knees as he picked something up in his hands. It was a small doll, the head hanging on by only a few more threads and both of the arms missing. It was symbol for all of the men. A symbol that weighed on each of their hearts because amongst all of the death they witnessed, the image of a doll, something so simple, they could see hope. The soldier ran his finger over one of the button eyes that had been hanging from its face, the doll reminded him of his family. His grip tightened on the doll while tears welled up in his eyes but they refused to fall. Even though he had been drafted into the war, Reeds felt some solace being there because it was like he was protecting his own family. He dropped his head when he realized something, he had failed to protect other families. Without warning the rest of his team, Reeds moved on through the town alone.

Beyond the view of the soldiers was a little boy no older than six. He moved slowly like waking up from a long sleep. Blood running from a gash on his cheek was mixing with the dirt streaking his face and soon, once the pain seeped in, tears poured down into the dirt and blood. To his right was his mother but she wasn’t moving. The boy crawled to her side, shaking her slightly. Still, she didn't move. He put his dirty hand into her blood stained one and waited to feel her comforting arms wrap around his shoulders. Something felt strange in his left leg; however, he did not dare to look down in case he saw his mother’s pale face at the same time. Time ticked away slowly, and the boy’s glossy, blue eyes wandered over at his sister in hopes that she would open her eyes whether or not she scolded him for crying. Neither of them moved and the boy began to wail. The only person he had left was his father but he had been drafted to the war months ago and hadn't seen him since. After a minute, he moved away some of the rubble to give himself a firm place for him to stand on the dirt. As he began to get his feet under him, however, he found himself unable to stand. Wedged deep in his leg was a large piece of wood. He nursed it, crying as he did so until he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. His head snapped upward to see ahead before finding a place to hide.

With the torn doll in his side pouch, Reeds trekked down the path of what felt like gravestones. His feet kicked up the dirt with each long, exhausting stride. Up ahead, he could have sworn he had heard a child's cry but a part of him wondered if it was all in his head, all just a wish for a survivor. Then, as he scrutinized one of the destructed homes, his eyes spotted the movement of rubble. Hope sprung up in his heart and he nearly went to search the home. Tears prickled at his green eyes, trying to coax him into crying but failing. Reeds tore himself away, the thought of false hope hardened his heart bitterly. He marched on. It was like following ghosts, they were just beyond your reach but impossible to see.

Perhaps the boy felt a connection or curiosity toward the soldier because he hopped in the same direction of the man. He stayed directly behind him and moved whenever the man looked back. The kid was debating whether or not he should approach the soldier and yet, at the same time, it was like playing a game. Over time the soldier grew suspicious. His hand rested on his rifle as he prepared to turn around entirely. In one motion, the gun flung out as he spun around, the boy stumbled back with fear pulsing through his veins. Reed’s eyes widened, dropping  the gun and falling to his knees. The small boy tried to push himself away from the man but his ankle was held tightly.

"It's okay," Reeds cooed softly. His eyes scanning over the boy in disbelief. A survivor... Suddenly, he bound forward and hugged him in the circle of his arms, tears freely flowing.

 "Medic!" He yelled, "I found one!"

All at once, a group of soldiers ran. They were all shocked seeing him with a boy curled against his chest, a hand smoothing the kids hair. The medic of the team rushed forward, examining the gashes and the impaled leg. Good news was all they hoped to hear, news that the boy would live, news that the wood could be removed, news that the boy was not alone. The soldiers turned their heads this way and that but saw no one else, this boy was the only survivor.

"Should we? Now?"  Reeds asked, referring to the removal of the wood.

"No, if we do, he’ll bleed out and it will get infected for sure. We'll need to call a dust off as soon as we can. They'll remove the wood and any splinters it might leave." The medic gave the boy a heavy pat on the shoulder before rocking back on his heels and standing up.

"Is there any way we can dull the pain for now?"

"Here," the medic pulled a bottle of pills from his pouch. “Unfortunately, that’s all I’ve got for now. It’s been a while since they replenished our supplies.”

Reeds administered it to the boy, who was peering into each face surrounding him. All of the men were tall, foreign. Some wore a type of paint to cover their faces, giving them a sort of air that suggested they were not to be messed with. Each man bore a heavy rucksack on their backs and various guns slung across their chests. They all had sympathy in their hearts for the boy and some smiled gently to prove it. Those smiles gradually disappeared once a murmur broke out from the back of the team.

"What's your name, boy?" Reeds asked gently.

The boy shrunk a little and stuttered, "B-Basil."

At that moment, one of the soldiers burst out. It was like he could contain himself no longer, "Poor boy... I hope the war is over before he grows up."

"What are you talking about?" a man next to him scoffed.

"What do you think? He'll just end up being drafted like us! The boy will see things like this every day! He won’t ever be able to shut those little eyes!"

"Shut up! Both of you!" the soldier turned to Basil, hoisting him onto his shoulders. Basil let out a small cry as his leg was forced to bend.

"Sorry, Basil. Everything will be alright, okay? We'll take care of you, trust me."

"Who are you all?"

"We're the good guys." Reeds stated proudly. Basil was another thing he carried but the burden of the boy was much lighter. The kid gave him another view of the war he endured every day. They really were the good guys, killed because they had to, not because they wanted to. They fought to protect the ones they love and this small boy proved just by surviving. Though Basil weighed down his shoulders, he lifted the weight from his heart. Reeds couldn’t save every family but at least he could save a life. Basil plucked the hat from the soldier’s head placing it on his own before hugging the man around his head. They marched on; step for steps, stride for strides, life for lives.

Author's Note

What do you think? I had to type something up for English and I came up with this story. Like? Leave a review, open to any suggestions. :)

Reviews

[Janani Sree Ganesh]

It's really nice! I love all of your stories :)

[BrynnaW.]

Thank you :)

[Chris]

Thought provoking piece...

[BrynnaW.]

Thanks for the review :) What did you think about?

[Chris]

mainly how the kid interacts with his ...saviors