Whose War?

• Joanne Colonas, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2022

“Matt, what did you see? “. A voice echoes.


***

BOOM, BOOM. The rough seas roared in anger as the shells fell around us. The boat rocked uncontrollably, barely remaining buoyant as we slowly floated towards an almost certain death. Many became ill, vomiting while slouched over the boat. The rest of us, sit paralysed, ardent to serve God and our country.

I turn my attention to Jack, who is staring deeply at his tattered picture of his wife and kids. He catches my gaze and with a slight smirk he reassures me, “Matt don’t look so worried; it will be worth it in the end”. I nod my head and reply with a smile.

As we approached the beach the sound of rolling waves and artillery softened, and they were replaced by the screaming of my fellow soldiers. A shiver runs down my spine, as I watch the ocean turn red with the blood of our platoon. Upon landing many froze in shellshock. The soldiers first to charge out of the boat are met with bullets. I jump off the boat, sinking into the murky water. As I reach the shore, the pungent smell of the battlefield hits me. In my rush to get to the trenches, my feet stumble through the thick mud, causing me to fall. “Ah great!”, I exclaim, as I had dropped my ammo.

When suddenly a bombardment of explosives rains down like seeds of destruction. Before I move, I hear a familiar voice “Matt! Over here”, shouts Jack from behind a rock. I sigh in relief, “Okay, I’m coming”, I yell back to him while I start to sprint. After catching my breath, I turn to face Jack, who now has an unrecognisable look of terror. My hands start to sweat while I cling to my rifle. Breathing shorter and shorter with the fear of what awaits, Jack and I leap from the rock racing forward.

In the corner of my eye, I see Jack fall. Crouching down next to him I now see the bullet wound in his right leg. With a worried look he says, “Not sure I’ll make it back”. Looking around, I could see that we had to make it back to the rock. I grab Jack’s vest hauling him across the beach. “We made it! Yes!”, I yell, as we reach the cover. I pull Jack, who now feels heavier, up next to me behind the rock. My breath trembles, “Jack?”. I feel my eyes start to sting and blur. He had been shot several times, while I carried him. His eyes were still. The guilt overwhelms me, and I sob “it was not worth it”, and then I looked up and saw someone waving a………


***


“Matt, what did you see?”, asks my psychologist as I awaken from my intense flashback-“I saw a white flag, the sign of a cease-fire. Discussions of peace started, but it was too late. Blood, lots of blood, had already been shed."