War is Hell, but Combat is a Mother Fucker
Posted: Mon Apr 30, 2018 10:28 pm
Killing a human being by your own hand isn’t easy, but it might be practical.
Maybe you began your adult life at a time when war and conscription were the order of the day. Some served, some left, some extended their schooling, some went into teaching to avoid going to war.
Women were affected, too, as the choice to marry or have children could be swayed by the hope of helping a man. People too young and too old for the military were distressed by the potential loss of a loved one in a war.
Maybe you were as much a conscientious objector as anyone could be and still carry hand-grenades. Maybe after training on the rifle range, you wondered if you would be able to point your weapon at a human instead of at a cardboard cutout, even in self-defense or defense of the injured.
Then your life changed one day.
You were assigned to a 6-man recon team. You travelled single-file, cautiously, in the jungle. In the 1st, 2nd and 6th positions were infantrymen with their assault weapons. In the 3rd, 4th and 5th positions were the sergeant, the radioman and the medic. You held the 5th position. And your rifle had never been fired.
You lived in the jungle, except for a few days each month. No one else lived in the jungle except enemy soldiers. Your home was decorated with never-ending vines and thorns. Mud impeded travel because your equipment and supplies were on your back. In the boonies, your skin rotted and your body was weakened by leeches and mosquitos.
One day, on a lark, you took the lead position. You struggled in the mud. Sweat ran out of every pore you laid claim to. Your knees faltered from the weight on your back. Your neck ached badly. Your vision was curtailed less than arm’s length in front of you. In your arms you carried your virgin rifle, safety off.
Your life changed forever in a microsecond.
As you slipped over a log and ducked under a vine, you instantly became aware of boots and legs in some kind of uniform. As you ducked under that vine, you pointed your weapon and squeezed its trigger. You never let go of the trigger. As you ducked under that vine, you fired your gun into a figure connected to those boots and legs, moaning and lying on the ground. You depleted your ammo, all of it, in 2.5 seconds.
It had taken you only a microsecond to react.
He looked to be very young, somewhere between 14 and 24. He was unarmed. He had already been wounded before you fired him up. Maybe you were driven by fear when you did this, but you took a human life just the same. Your actions may have been instinctive, but what did this say about your ethics? Maybe it wasn’t a case of murder – it was during war, after all – but it was still a matter of killing someone. You were a conscientious objector, remember?
Some mother’s son was not going to come home. He had been murdered by his enemy. You may have rationalized that he could have been armed and able to kill you. You may have reasoned that it could have been him or you. What a dilemma: to be killed or to remain alive to live a lifetime of deep remorse.
Maybe this had been your moral conundrum. If it had been, would you want to change that fatal scene?
Maybe you began your adult life at a time when war and conscription were the order of the day. Some served, some left, some extended their schooling, some went into teaching to avoid going to war.
Women were affected, too, as the choice to marry or have children could be swayed by the hope of helping a man. People too young and too old for the military were distressed by the potential loss of a loved one in a war.
Maybe you were as much a conscientious objector as anyone could be and still carry hand-grenades. Maybe after training on the rifle range, you wondered if you would be able to point your weapon at a human instead of at a cardboard cutout, even in self-defense or defense of the injured.
Then your life changed one day.
You were assigned to a 6-man recon team. You travelled single-file, cautiously, in the jungle. In the 1st, 2nd and 6th positions were infantrymen with their assault weapons. In the 3rd, 4th and 5th positions were the sergeant, the radioman and the medic. You held the 5th position. And your rifle had never been fired.
You lived in the jungle, except for a few days each month. No one else lived in the jungle except enemy soldiers. Your home was decorated with never-ending vines and thorns. Mud impeded travel because your equipment and supplies were on your back. In the boonies, your skin rotted and your body was weakened by leeches and mosquitos.
One day, on a lark, you took the lead position. You struggled in the mud. Sweat ran out of every pore you laid claim to. Your knees faltered from the weight on your back. Your neck ached badly. Your vision was curtailed less than arm’s length in front of you. In your arms you carried your virgin rifle, safety off.
Your life changed forever in a microsecond.
As you slipped over a log and ducked under a vine, you instantly became aware of boots and legs in some kind of uniform. As you ducked under that vine, you pointed your weapon and squeezed its trigger. You never let go of the trigger. As you ducked under that vine, you fired your gun into a figure connected to those boots and legs, moaning and lying on the ground. You depleted your ammo, all of it, in 2.5 seconds.
It had taken you only a microsecond to react.
He looked to be very young, somewhere between 14 and 24. He was unarmed. He had already been wounded before you fired him up. Maybe you were driven by fear when you did this, but you took a human life just the same. Your actions may have been instinctive, but what did this say about your ethics? Maybe it wasn’t a case of murder – it was during war, after all – but it was still a matter of killing someone. You were a conscientious objector, remember?
Some mother’s son was not going to come home. He had been murdered by his enemy. You may have rationalized that he could have been armed and able to kill you. You may have reasoned that it could have been him or you. What a dilemma: to be killed or to remain alive to live a lifetime of deep remorse.
Maybe this had been your moral conundrum. If it had been, would you want to change that fatal scene?