The Militant

The Militant

By Douglas Armament

Shooting brings us highs and lows

As any soldier surely knows

That cannot hope for sudden cure

And nurses answer that’s for sure

Rounds of mortar pulsed over the hill into territory the gunners could not see. The streaks of orange whistled and disappeared before the distant explosions came. Mycroft beckoned to his superior that he would break now. Eliot replaced him at the gun-side. In the mountains Afghans hid in caves, careful and well maintained by the supplies designed to keep them for years if the fighters remained undiscovered. White approached Eliot and offered a cigarette. Eliot lit both and they smoked without speaking as the gun kept up a sporadic firing. White left for the tank stationed behind them higher on the hill from which visuals penetrated deeper down the valley ahead. Bishop coiled a series of electrical cables and laid them in a green box near the Sargent’s Hummer. He stepped into a tent at the rear of the vehicle for a sandwich and a glass of coke with ice before returning to lift the box he had filled. Too heavy for him, he called Eliot over and the two of them got it into the big truck. White came out of the latrine and sat in the shade of the Hummer with her feet up on a pile of camouflage. Eliot moved her pistol to the side and extracted it and wiped it of dust. She sat down, too, tired with the heat, weary with standing and watching. 
       An Afghan crawled up the back of the hill near them unobserved. He carried an explosive device of enormous power. Proceeding slowly, cautiously, he waiting frequently for signs of having been heard. Twice he made a noise and stopped for fifteen minutes at a time to listen. When he got to the top he stood up to run towards the soldiers and their vehicles. He tripped and fell. The explosion tore the side of the Hummer away and the napping Sargent too. He woke up in heaven. The Afghan disappeared. White ran over to the vehicle and tried to help her superior but she knew that he was gone. Eliot kept her station by the Howitzer. She held her eye on the spot where she had heard the roar, her drawn gun ready. Bishop stayed in the latrine until he felt safe and all noise had subsided. The Howitzer kept up its occasional blasts. Far away in the caves the hiding Afghans waited for something.