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  Date / Time: 4/7/2009 3:30 AM UTC

  Blood in the sand
  

  
  by Richard Amyx
  
  BLOOD IN THE SAND
  
  The feel of the sand and stones along with a broken concrete pavement under my boots. The hot wind and desert heat, beating against my skin and damn the flies and flees. Eighty-five pounds of field gear, a flack jacket and a biological protection suit. All this crap drains every drop of moisture from my body.
  
  It's hard to keep from choking from the sickening smell of spent powder. The thick smoke and smells of dead bodies fill the air. Death is all around me.
  
  I can't seem to silence this pounding in my heart or free the pressure in my chest. My throat is nearly swollen shut from the thick glue like dryness in my mouth. I feel fear gripping every fiber in my body. And adrenalin racing ramped through me.
  
  I expect to find death around every corner, down every ally, and through every door. For the moment death has not called my name.
  
  I think about my buddies, and man you do need your buddies here. You cover their backs and they cover yours. The one thing you try not to do is to get to close to them or anyone, because at any moment day or night it could be their body parts that are being scraped from the pavement or walls, and their blood soaked up by the sand.
  
  This war is very hard on every one but I think the medic has it worse than the rest of us. The medics deal with nothing but the wounded and dying. They do the best they can to stabilize the wounded in the heat of a fire fight until they can get them transported out to a surgical unit, when all the while they are taking fire them selves. Some of the wounded are so bad off that there is no hope for them, some medics feel it is their fault and they should have been able to do more but all they can do is shoot them up with morphine to take away the pain and help them die faster, the Doc's do a lot of crying, some even start to use there own medication just so they can sleep and not remember their nightmares.
  
  There are some soldiers that just loose it all and no longer can function in any capacity, it is a hard thing to see but at least it gets them a ticket home. Some just get quite not saying a word. They don't function with others they just keep to them selves and show no emotion in there faces, They can do their job but they seem to start liking the killing they seem to live for it, some of them loose all perspective, seeing no difference between the innocent and the enemy.
  
  I suppose every war before this one has left its seal of Hell upon those who fought and lived to return home, what I do know is that if I make it through this war I pray that I make it out with my body, mind, and emotions all in tack and that I am able to fit back into a world I left, absent the baggage that we seem to collect here.
  
  

  I pray that this all ends soon so no others will have to follow us, and not have to face what no human should ever have to contend with, to see and do the things that will stay in their memories

  
  
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