Sacrifice of War

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
I am a true fighter! Born to protect my country! A will not let Napolen take over American, not as long as I live! For America!

Submitted: January 08, 2010

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Submitted: January 08, 2010



Death. It overwhelms many people. It lingers over us, like a heavy blanket of fog, unbearable to live with. One can't live without it though. It's a part of your life, but I had never imagined that I would ever watch the cruel hand of death take it's new victum right infront of me. I was holding a poor wretch in my arims. His bloody, slowly turning his green uniform a dark color. the sparkle left his eyes, starting to roll back. i could clearly see where a sword had merciless empailled his chest, missing his heart by inches.

I could hear swords clanging, muskets firing and every so often the crys of the unfortunate. The body in my hands trembled, the life slowly leaving his body. This man had been my comrad, who had fought aside me for many years. I was distracted for a moment, as a general fell next to me, a bullet right between his eyes. Suddenly the body in my hands stopped moving and his last breath escaped out of his throat. I put my ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat. Nothing

I struggled to pick him up, for he wasn't the lightest man, staining my leather jacket with blood. I was safely behind the last row of our troops, a few yeards away from  a grouping of tents. It was growing dark out, the fight had drawn out all day. I had finally arrived at the medical tent. My ear quickly picked up the sound of moaning. People were laying on foldable beds, nurses running panickly inbetween beds, carrying bandages, fresh clothes and other equipment. Many of the wounded were nearly screaming, bullets lodged into legs and backs. Blood streaming of of those, grimacing while extracting the bullets.

Others bleeding to death slowly, turning the ever-so white sheets an unusal color, making it look as if the sheets had been red since the beginning. Finally I spied an empty bed, red stains only on the pillow. I laid my friend on the bed, his eyes staring endlessly to the ceiling. I took of my hat, or should I say what was left of it, and wished him good luck, where ever he was.

I started walking on my way out, trying to tone out a high pitched screaming endeing with: " WHAT THE FU!" the rest was droned out , when I had stepped out already. A light breeze hit my face, as I looked out, onto the battlefield. War. It demands and takes. Offers and kills. I had lost a good friend today. A sacrifice I was not willing to make. We were losing ground, the french were gaining quickly. Retreat! We were backing up. Bit for bit, letting the french take the town. There would be another battle. Was this the end?

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