Dawn of Battle (part 1)

by Caleb Freeman

    The eye of the East danced with the birth of a new day, stepping forth over impregnable peaks to scorch the eternity of sand with its fiery gaze. The soldier’s turban grimaced with uncertainty, as the man rose from his makeshift hut gripping his prized Russian Kalashnikov. The cool, metallic sensation had a magically element of comfort, seemingly extracting anxiety from his burdened chest. His expression, intensely fervent upon the conception bound within his restless heart, smeared painfully across his features.

    The devout Muslim began calculating each step of his mission as he rested his soothing god of destruction on the shelf of his broad shoulder. Mounting his tattered leather pack on an uninhabited shoulder, he started forth trailing his waning shadow. As the king of the sky neared its merciless zenith the man laid weary eyes upon his imminent destination. Glancing at his small digital time piece he increased his pace expending noticeable effort. His moist expression, heavy with lines of urgency, grew more intense with each step. A raspy voice, thrust from the deep chambers of his throat, chanted the sacred words of a foreign tongue.

    Closing in on his destination, he encountered an undefined border. Collapsing to his knees he turned toward the location most sacred to his faith. Raising his hands to heaven the man indulged in an intense rhythm of incoherencies, repeatedly bowing his pained face to the hot sand. A quick conclusion terminated his passionate ceremony. Rising to his feet the man gathered his cleansed spirit, wiping the thin stream of tears from his weathered cheek. Again he referred to his wrist to insure punctual arrival at the awaiting point of most crucial interest.

    The man began a brisk stride towards a lonely hill. Approaching the bare rocky face he inquired his leather pack for a small electronic device. Extending the objects' protruding antennae, he attempted to signal a distant comrade. The signal was returned by a voice of rough dialect. The comrades exchanged urgent conversation as the man continued his journey to the outermost point of the hill.

    Suddenly, a deep chord struck the earth, coursing through the man’s structure. Upon leaping strides he applied his underside to the climax of the hill. His comrade’s voice was interrupted by rude intervals of static. The man silenced the device. Studying the desolate valley below him he listened intently to distant blasts, calculating his inevitable involvement. The encroaching struggle broke the horizon as bellowing projectiles assailed his ears. Mounting his weapon, the man prepared to administer death.

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