Splashing waters and buffeting winds beat against the side of the weakened steel boat he sat upon. His friends all looked to him with fear in their eyes as they cut through the waters toward the beach before them. He grew nervous as he readjusted his helmet feverishly as his hands shook as fast as the gunfire ahead. His helmet laid too large for his head. His uniform was too loose. His gun was awkward to hold. He was a simple man from his home country, no special talents, no special gifts. Socially inept as could be, a stutter plagued his speech and silence was his best conversation topic. Why did he even come here?
He joined to fight for his fortune.
Bullets cut through the waters and boats, lighting flesh afire with sharp pains of war. All men ducked down swiftly to avoid the rain of death from above. The man looked to his friends again, fear encompassing their expressions before dead bodies of fellow men. The sounds of hell on high passed over with a guise of dorniers, raining judgement upon them from inexplicable forces. Propellers sang the lullabies of the reaper like the white noise before the tunnel’s light. Only true fortitude could face the evil before him - to resist and absorb the lightning war shot against them. To redirect the destruction of innocent homes with the fires of courageous heroes set to free the beliefs of innocent men, women and children. This man’s fortune came from his victory, what he wanted from the beginning.
CRASH
The steeled ram of the boat crashed upon the sand of the paradise-turned hell. The fires of betrayal burned bright from each tower, barricade and length of barbed wire strewn across the land. Nothing accompanied the man’s thoughts but the sounds of shells, casings and mines. A soldier found fear as his morning sun - always existing, day-by-day. His fear brought him what he desired most - what he needed most - courage. The fire in his eyes blew through the air as the grit of teeth, sounding as the sand whisked across the beach before him. His heavy boots carried on to the paradise that once was, knowing he was a tool of a cause he knew too well. A tool of his superior from whom he was hopefully paid.
He and his brothers ran forth, jumping over barricades and barbed wire blocks, past each bullet as if dodging every drop in a torrential downpour. Miraculous chance and luck carried them to their first wall. A thick bricked layer protecting them from the towers holding the fiery eyes of devils, searching for fools who backhanded their cause and sought to dismantle it. Piercing rounds could be heard reflecting off their backs as they sat, breath escaped through the branches of adrenalized lungs they carried. Panicked looks were exchanged before they hauled up from the wall to strike back against the eyes of the tower. Courageous yells bellowed from his allies as they fired the rounds of almighty will over the wall. Casings crashed upon the ground as bullets whisked through the air toward the covered barriers in the distance hiding the regretful soldiers of the lightning war. His fortune gained from this risk far outweighed the deaths he witnessed.
Silence filled the surrounding area. As he looked left and right, he was alone. His friends had fallen beside him in their fight. Their shineless eyes laid motionless as crimson rivers flowed from their wounds to stain their uniforms. He looked back toward the waters seeing boats massacred by the propelled death machines, fearful screams emerging from the steeled hulls cutting toward the sands. Courageous roars followed, more and more feet running onto the granular battlefield of their redemption. Surrender was not an option. As the bodies of his allies piled, his fortune did not increase, his cut did not grow, he thought, it remained static.
The lives of great men falling to their knees as steeled monsters split through their bodies and explosive tirades emerging from mines beneath them. Casualties grew as they advanced upon the beach. His widened eyes dilated with fear as he knew his fate would be the same.
Why was he here?
Why did he choose to come?
Why risk everything?
His fortune.
He fought for his fortune, he thought. “Do not forget your reward for this battle.”, the man repeated over and over in his head. More men traversed the beach, less falling than before. They even passed the wall he sat behind. He knew he had to continue.
His heart rate blew past normal limits as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His weapon gripped with the strength of a titan, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. Deep, intense breaths amped up his courage to traverse his wall. His awkward personality was masked by a hero’s vigor. The morale of the men around him called him to honour. A fire burned within his heart for the fortune he desired.
Up he leapt, crawling over the brick wall now covered in bullet wounds. He rose to see two towers in front of him, surrounded with bodies of his friends, his brothers. Two men in each tower, with long rifles. An assault began with him, as allies ran beside him in his charge. Running in unpredictable lines, he dodged the rain of fire coming from the reaper’s towers. He fired his weapon to bust the handle of the door, knocking it open with his unfitted boot. He entered the huge metal beast with two others, shooting the enemies within with vengeant lead. The dead enemy uniforms showed betrayal of the nations. The three traversed the stairs, bullets coming down from the roof as the enemies knew they had been compromised. Each ally he ran with fell to the violent rounds of the guns above. The man ran forth, emanating courage like an inferno. He fired his weapon, destroying the two enemies atop the tower. One rose again before he could react, drawing forth with a sharpened knife that penetrated his flesh torso. With his final strike, the soldier fell to the ground in agony from the bullet.
Feeling his life escape from the bladed wound, the man fell to the ground, feeling the light come upon him to bring him home. He could not go - his mission was not over. He defied the light one last time. His muscles pulsed with agony as he rose slowly to his feet once more.
His helmet was too large, it helped clear his mind.
His uniform was loose, giving him more freedom.
His weapon was awkward, to suit the man who wielded it.
Weapon raised, heroic power on high brought him strength - he fired his last death notes toward the second tower, death’s reapers still upon the top. With exquisite accuracy, bullets penetrated their uniforms as they shook to the ground in defeat. He basked in victory as the towers blistering this hell now stood defeated. His friends and brothers could now traverse the beach freely, to continue to mission they started to free the helpless. His mind grew weak as blood filtered onto the steel floor of the tower’s peak. He knew he was one of the ten thousand men on the day of tides, the turning of the war. One of ten thousand men who gave their lives, with thousands upon thousands more in the days to come. One of ten thousand heroes.
It did not matter to him whether he laid upon the beach of Juno, Gold, Sword, Utah or Omaha.
It did not matter to him which country he hailed from, or what his name was.
It did not matter to him whether the war was fought with guns, blades, or arrows.
His fortune was now his.
His wife and child stood before him. Ethereal bodies smiling at him as he bled rivers of life for them. His fortune was their survival. His sacrifice meant life for the ones he loves - and millions of others.
His life, he thinks, is nothing compared to the victory this day provides.
This man does not fight for wealth, or glory, or any extraneous ephemera.
This man fights for freedom of belief, for truth, against oppression, against evil.
This man is the most valuable resource a country can hold.
He is a true soldier of fortune.
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