War Torn

I’m weaker in emotion than in arms and fire aim

The smoke I’m inhaling isn’t keeping my mind sane,

It feels like rehydration’s a better soldier’s game . . .

On Streaky’s left, Angus was firing rapidly. Streaky tried to copy him. He fired round after round after round. You could lose yourself in firing. It was as though you ceased to exist and your body became a part of your weapon. It was good to think of yourself as a weapon. It made you feel invulnerable. It made you feel like a killing machine.When at last he paused there was a rap forming in his head.

We’re pinned down

It’s a sin to frown, I wish I could grin but it’s grim in this town

No houses no streets no shops and no women

Just choking on the smoke and no joking I need water,

water water water . . .

What rhymed with water?There was the sodium glare and the crash of an RPG, so powerful it made Streaky duck. With his head down, words inserted themselves into his brain.Water . . . daughter, sorter, halter . . . no good, none of them, not one of them was any good.The grenade had missed the Vectors and was landing on the track in front of them. There was a pause. Everyone, including the enemy, was waiting to see if it had hit the IED.‘Cover!’ Dave roared.But the grenade fell short and firing resumed.‘We’re short of ammo,’ Dave told everyone. ‘Watch and fire. Watch and fire. Conserve ammo.’Streaky didn’t hear him.

Water, transporter

Good rhyme.

Water, mortar

Yes! Even better!