I sit here with the platoon's most powerful weapon facing the track that leads to this area of the forest that we are harbouring in. With 500 rounds linked together in one extended chain loaded into my General Purpose Machine Gun, I sit quietly, listening to my section mate breathing deeply beside me. The nights are bitterly cold and sleep is a rare commodity, fatigue only builds up as we execute mission after mission, march after march, and chances to recuperate are hard to come by. I shift my attention momentarily from the empty road up ahead to my sleeping section mate next to me. He sleeps with his arms folded across his chest, clutching tightly his rifle, an object that could end someone's life with a simple squeeze of a trigger. He keeps on his Integrated Body Armour, a full water bag and water canteen along with other standard required items kept neatly in the various pouches on the best. With the map of the area slotted in his right thigh pocket, he wears in his knee and elbow guards, along with his combat gloves. Worn out combat boots and a full set of uniform tracked with dirt stains complete the look. He rests his head on his assault and his helmet is placed next to his left shoulder.
I look at him, and find it hard to remember that he is 19 years old. Yes, a 19 year old that never signed up for this, training with equipment he hopes never to use, practicing maneuvers he wishes to never employ, for a war he wants never to come.
Such, really, is the price for security. Such is the price that we pay for our country's continued prosperity. We trade in time, money, equipment, relationships for investors confidence by which we survive and thrive. Such is the system in place, such is the world we live in.
A fighting patrol just returned, and as they climb the hill past my position, we exchange a few words, smiles, jokes. The fatigue is obvious in their eyes and I can tell they are happy to be back to get a chance to rest. ~
