So, I dub thee “Unforgiven”

This is a random bunch of entries I had made a long time ago in a diary. I chanced upon them yesterday. I guess you could call it a short story. The title is part of the refrain of “The Unforgiven” by Metallica

5th July
The day my life took a u-turn of sorts. I had come home from work. God knows how I had a job, what with the unemployment rampant due to the war going on. I had barely entered when I saw the letter. I had been drafted. Chosen to fight for my country. The letter gave details as to where and when I was to report for training and ordered that I leave the very next day. My mother tried to restrain me by pointing out that the risk I was taking was immense. I was in my prime, had a job. Why throw it all away, like Father had? She pointed to his portrait gesticulating wildly. I wouldn't listen. I was too excited, high on adrenaline.

7th July

I’m on my way to the army camp. Boarded the train at 7am. Should reach there sometime in the next 4 hours. Feeling nervous, excited and also elated. After all, it IS an honour to serve your country. Am I worth it?

9th August – Base Camp 0500hrs

Two months later, I can hardly recognize myself. I’m fitter, faster and can shoot to kill. I am a soldier. And the icing on the cake is; I have been assigned to my father’s regiment. I sent a few letters during the course of these days to my mother, but she rarely replied. She is still begging me to come home.
Our camp is about 4 miles from the front. It’s a bloodbath out here. We are entrenched and have machine guns covering the perimeter. But nothing protects us from air raids carried out by the enemy. I killed my first man yesterday. Man? He was in his teens. My hands were shaking. I don't know why, I felt a surge of pity. I sort of froze, and he aimed his gun at me. I shot him in the chest and had run on to join my squad. Happened in a heartbeat.

11th August- Base Camp 0700hrs

Trouble sleeping these days. Keep having nightmares. I see that kid’s face. The sarge says it’s just first kill nerves. The camp is under siege and we are trapped. Repeated raids by the enemy. We buried five men yesterday. The hill just opposite our perimeter is our target for now and we plan on laying siege to it. My squadmates and Captain Reily presiding over us to “keep us in line”.  I felt like those soldiers in Tennyson’s poem as I ran up the hill. Our attack didnt work out. They’ve got Panzer tanks covering the area. Once agian we are entrenched. Trapped. We need air support or else all of us are dead.

12th August- Entrenchment 0645hrs

Air support is here. Dropped some much needed medication. People are dropping like flies and our camp is beginning to resemble a cemetary. We lost the Sarge so Reily is now the C.O.
The good news is that the Panzer tanks are blown to bits. We might be able to counter attack now. Waiting for Reily’s signal. Is it just me, or is our C.O. getting cold feet?

13th August- Entrenchment 0700hrs
We are making our move today. We are going to hit those guys with all we got. I’m loading my carbine now as I sip the muck they call coffee around here.

17th August- Hospital in unknown location Time unknown

I do not know what happened. The last thing I remember is charging up that hill with the squad, facing a hailstorm of bullets and wondering if I am going to live to tell the tale. Now I find myself in hospital. The doctor said I took a grenade to the face and have shrapnel in my face. I am now scarred for life. I have also lost sight in one eye. I do not know how I came to be here, or how many of us survived that attack. I hope we managed to secure the sector.

20th August- Hospital 1000hrs

I’m going home. Useless it seems in the state I am in. Got word that we did secure that sector. Some consolation. Reily died but. How many have we lost? I cant remember.

1st September-Home

It’s hell. Everyone looks at me like I am some sort of freak. A disgrace. They wont look me in the eye. Mr. Bracken called me a coward just the other day. They all seem to have forgotten I took a grenade to the face. Hypocrites.
My mother has taken this the hardest. She keeps crying. “Look at what they did to you”, she said when I walked through the door.  All I got now, is that bottle of Scotch. Then they will accuse me of being a drunk.

They all say it’s an honour to fight for your country. They tell you tales when you are young, of the heroes who fell and the battles, conquests. The guts, the glory.

No one tells you what a war does to your mind. That hole it leaves in you.  No one tells you of the fingers they point. I guess, it must be all a “part of the plan”. No one tells you what an utter waste a war is, or how stupid the reason for one is.

Never mind my scars, or that half my face is gone. The real thing is, how do I wash off all that blood on my hands? How do I forget? Will the mothers of those people I killed ever forgive me?

I guess that’s why it’s been a long time since I prayed last……


The Bilge Master