All In A Day’s Work
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 5; the fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
“ I was not ‘me’ a year ago. I was a good man…” echoed a recurring introspective thought. Again.
” In the 8 months away from home, courtesy and humanity have departed my soul while I have convinced myself that it is good to be bad. I have changed and changed for the worse, I have cultivated hatred like an addiction I cannot quit.. ”
“ ..they deserve it ! ” I had told myself as I slayed the enemy. It was my duty and remorse was scant.
“How did I get here..?”
“Maybe this mishap was a sign ? Am I living a lie ? “
“ I was capable of compassion and warmth ..” he thought to himself.
Gazing at his blood soaked hands, still shaking, Timothy Gates, Captain, Assault Helicopter Company, US Army conceded..
” I want to be the man I was…” he told himself outside the American run hospital in Kabul.
—***—
When life teaches a lesson, it pulls all stops. 3 hours later, Gates was still planted firmly outside the operating area of the hospital.
Hope, the much needed insurgent in despair, was fading fast and he could do little..
“Why was she in there ?” he demanded no one in particular as the pent up cocktail of frustration, anger and sorrow bubbled over…
“ ..it was supposed to be an insurgent hideout, not a family home with kids damn it ! ” he thundered even as tears streamed down his face..
Tipped by an insider, they had moved in fast on that house in the valley. An insurgent safe haven they were assured. When they engaged the insurgents, a bloody hour long battle ensued. 3 of his men were wounded, 1 seriously.
Stiff resistance undermining their gains, they contemplated sterner measures like bombing the building — cut the losses than continue the stand off and risk a failure.
They had a decison….
“Boooom !”
All was over ; razed ; ….. or so they thought..
As if in slow motion, a tiny frame raised itself from the rubble. A mosaic of black soot, brown dirt and the red ochre of fresh blood was splattered liberally on the frail 4 year old frame. She stood up amid the embers as an orange flame kissed the sky behind her..
..as she stood, her little legs gave way, and she collapsed, as did the flying debris from the blast.
she pulled herself up again. A meek hand flayed in the wind like a twig, begging for help. With all that she could muster, she flung her body forward and ambled a tiny step..
Gates bolted at her..
..he ran towards her like she were his very own. Swooping her from the ground gingerly, he held her close. The sounds around him got muted and the landscape hazy as he held her in his arms and whispered to her. As her vacant stare met his, he begged her to hang on. Kissing her gently, his tears streaming, he ran towards his helicopter to rush her to the hospital..
—***—
Mortared remains of a school housed 15 soldiers in it’s dilapidated interiors. Crumbling walls ushered in nature liberally ; bone-dry mountain ranges with scant vegetation had a halo from the sun playing hide and seek. A gust swooped the loose soil and liberally adorned the soldiers and their equipment even as an eerie calm enveloped the valley below – a valley that had blazed with fire and death 2 days ago….
Illuminated by a white ghostly beam from his laptop, Gates was lost in a thought and a silent tear. Darkness, tinged with day-break twilight kept him company..
“ Collateral damage son, all in a day’s work for a soldier ! ” his superior had chortled about the family of 5 that perished due to their actions.
“Great job guys, I am recommending you for a medal ” he had smiled with a thumbs-up.
“ They were held hostage by the insurgents only to be buried alive by us ..? ” thought Gates. He clutched a black and white printout of a news article from 2 days ago and tried to shake off the disgusting congratulatory images from his head. The printout had a picture of him holding Farah. It was not much of a photo, but that was all he had of little Farah he tried to save, but couldn’t..
” She ran to me and I couldn’t save her…” he lamented involuntarily like a helpless father who had lost his child.
” A little 4 year old saw through our enemy uniform and ran to us for help..”
“ Maybe, from a distance, we seem human too ..” he wondered.
—***—
Unshaven, laden with dust and grease, Gates’s men, all of twenty something lay strewn across the room thick with cigarette smoke. This calm was uncommon. Pain and grief ; anxiety and loneliness ; kiddish pranks to fist fights to sheer boredom were the range of emotions on display in this temporary quarters of young men far from home.
It was the fifth day after, but little Farah’s thoughts kept Gates company even as sleep had deserted him.
“Ding ! ”
Gates bolted up straight on his cot and realized he had just dozed off for an hour. He reached for his laptop and tapped the keys furiously to rev it up from the sleep mode.
“Everythin ok sir ? ” chuckled O’Brien. Gates ignored him for the moment.
…..
“Linda’s mail..” he gasped aloud once the laptop responded.
The room fell silent. As if a red alert had been sounded, the soldiers stopped what they were doing.
They waited..
After what seemed like an eternity of staring at the screen, Gates fumbled for Farah’s photo in his pocket. As he held the printout next to the screen, a lone tear streaked down his cheek and a warm smile unfurled on his face..
O’Brien ran up behind Gates..
There was a picture of Linda Gates holding their new born baby daughter.
” Welcome home, FARAH GATES….” Gates said softly.
..
Note : The above post is fictional short-story. It is not a real story.
Photos : Time Magazine
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
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