Dust serpent

Zarian city was known to take cold water baths in a sunny desert with no rivers running freely. They had it all: the water, the food, the gold and the beauty. Very lucky for us, because all of it will soon be ours. Half of what we take will be traded for more supplies we need while the rest will be stored for the winters and given to the civilians as daily rations. That is an Ildocian way. Army always takes, never gives away.

Our march halted in the desert until we get our fresh water from the villages wells, completely dried by Ildocian First army. Some of those Zarians were left for dead, their cattle taken, their houses burnt and men killed. We even took their kids, slayed the old folk and left the villages like a drunkard leaves the brothel. March was on again with the Star always frying our heads, heating the heavy knights in their armor and slowing down the skinny slaves in our backs. We prayed for rain, even more for a shade but the desert didn’t provide any oasis nor shelter. Still, we had to move. Nights were somewhat bearable, but we moved in haste to take them off guard.

– Move until they build the towers! – commander spoke from his horse that had his breath sound hollow.

– But sir, the desert will kill us all. I would welcome the Zarian blade right now, at least it’s cold. – one spearman spoke, squinting his eyes toward the knight.

Knight wanted to move his horse and stomp the fool until death with iron hoofs, but the horse didn’t move, not even when the rider stabbed the steed with his heels. The horse crashed down with the last breath, squealing out of thirst it couldn’t be quenched. Knight rolled two feet away from the horse, rearranged his royal emblem on the breastplate and yelled as powerful as he could, which wasn’t very loud because of  the dry vocal cords. No one laughed as no one had power to do it. We felt sorry for the beast, because we shared the same fate as this brown haired horse. Soon, the men will fall dead on sand where the desert will bury them and hold a eulogy when the wind starts whistling over the dune tops.

– You see. – the spearman spoke holding his spear he leaned on and hugged with both of his hands, – We will die before we reach the damn Zaria… This sunny weather is no good for the marching man that leaves the dust clouds behind.

– I wish we could fight in winter. – another guy spoke.

– Shut it. – knight said it rising up where sand poured from his cavities in armor, – We will be there in few days. The water is there. You want water, we must win the war. – he pointed at the head of the column and we fell to march.

In lack of precious liquid, we drew blood from useless horses and filled our paunches with piss and spit. We marched across the desert like a serpent, leaving the trail of sand clouds and dead bodies.

 Sunny

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Terror Intolerant

I have waited for a few days before deciding to write my mind, as there are jumpy people, looking for blood. Violence is never a good thing and I have never supported it, therefor I am against terrorism. Even I am against terror, I am not a supporter of killing the “terrorists”, because the violence against terrorists will just inflame more passionate fanatics to join their cause, ergo – more terrorists. Yes, I know we need to defend ourselves from them, but are we fighting them on the terrain where we can win? I mean, we should try to pacify them in other ways, rather than shooting the whole bunch of them. Maybe challenge their violent ideology, not irritate them with our presence in what is their country, encourage the Islamic society to actively preach peace to the infuriated fanatics and show them the way to build functional society. I kinda understand why are they doing this guerrilla warfare. If you think about it, it’s very simple. All the terrorist want is vengeance against foreign troops (foreign from their perspective) that have invaded their country and start to meddle in a civil war between two domestic sides. One mans terrorists is another mans freedom fighter, right – or am I that dumb to think that way? Would you feel the same way – if lets say, someone more powerful than you starts dealing justice in your country instead of your own government?

I assume it all started with a cultural misunderstanding. Think of a random Islamic country, a rural area where the justice is being done by the chieftain or some other headman, and add a western soldier in that situation, that knows nothing about those people. The soldier has its commands to keep the village safe and he does that. Something bad happens, as usually does, maybe a blood oath has been committed and that is a form of justice for the tribesmen. The soldier sees for what he thinks is a crime in civilized world and shoots the armed vigilante. What happens next? He just killed a man, which is an insult to the dead mans family. Now, the family needs to restore its honor by returning fire, avenging the death of tribe/clan member. Blood can be repaid only by blood. You know the saying “tooth for a tooth”. The soldier has just made himself a new target, and the western country will not allow the tribe to kill one of their own, as that is not justice by our western standards. How is family going to react on that? If there are more of these cultural differences and they start pilling up, the more people will react and people do talk one to another. You fill ones ear with horrifying stories about some foreign soldiers getting away with murder, he will soon develop hate for the forces that said they are here to help. Hate turns to rage, rage make people do dumb things, people react even more and slowly the terrorism becomes an answer. Blow them up, kill them without mercy, make them leave this place, but western soldiers want to avenge their fallen brother, so they develop hate for the people they are suppose to protect, hate turns into rage and people do dumb stuff when angry. There you go, a wheel of doom, rolling over the dead.

On Ramadan, the Islamic holiday, a British woman ran her car into the crowd of worshipers in front of a mosque. Was that vengeance for the Manchester or did she acted on some other reasons? Did one of her family member sadly died in some random Islamic country, or was he the casualty of terrorism? Is this what we call “fighting fire with fire”? Isn’t it ironic, for someone in the civilized society, to have actually think that this is the right way to end terrorism? What will be the Islamic fanatics reaction on this? Will they use this as recruiting material, show it to young and still ignorant men saying: “This is what the “west” has for you! Our sisters and brothers ran from their guns in here, just to end up under their wheels like a stupid sheep in middle of the road?”. They could be saying all sort of things, even lie about it, just to gain more soldiers to fight the “invaders”. Is this an evolution of terrorism that spreads across the religions, or is it just an act of violence?

I have no answers, but I surely know that terrorism isn’t the answer. I pray for all that have lost somebody due to the violence of others. What do you think? What should we do to stop it before its too late to do anything?

 

The great fire

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Blaze broke of in the middle of the nights, licked the object close to the base, sending orange rays upwards, glowing dim behind our backs. I ran up to the officer’s tent, not stopping to announce myself. The guard in fluorescent vest pushed me back and screamed:

– What’s your damage soldier?! – he pressed my chest while inspecting my appearance and feeling the air streaming in my lungs.

– Fire! – I yelled, but I shouldn’t as that phrase meant we are under attack.

Base commander rose quickly, sobering up in a second, blindly frisking his surroundings for a rifle.

– Fire? What fire? – the officer asked, looking at his friends rising, hooking gear, loading weapons.

– Southeast corner. Two miles out. It is huge! – I spoke leaned on the wall, catching breath and wiping sweat with my sleeve.

– That’s what she said. – one of the officers said in his chin and two guys laughed, – So? Why do we care? – he added with a yawn.

– Our warehouse is there. – commander spoke calm, – Wake up the locals and move the water trucks to help them. – he held his pulsating head like a baby and grunted.

– Common, yo. We got some firefighting to do. – joker in group loaded the bullet and clicked the safety off, when everybody laughed again, then he left his rifle down.

Everybody took off from the tent screaming, alarming the base and battle weary boys that exited their barracks in nothing else but the underwear.

– Code red, maggots! Rise and shine! To battle stations! – officer shouted and the heavy engines thundered away from the garage.

We ran there, two miles out from the base and monitored the locals as they fought fire. Some of our men spilled water on their uniforms to protect themselves from the flames and they have been the most courageous ones, because they were the closest to the building. We localized the fire, and cooled down the walls of the family houses around it which were taken by the colorful heat from the warehouse.

It was beautiful at the moments, when the orange and red rays painted the floor and the neighbourhood. Everything was visible and shiny. My heart was full, seeing the locals and us working together. Morning came with the black smoke rising high into the air like drones did their best last night. Women brought us refreshments to thank us for saving the block, while we shared our cigarettes with the brown men, their husbands, stained with black traces of flame on face and clothes. We acted locally, and it was all good.

 Local

So, embarrassing

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Todays blog post is in a form of video. I saw this some time before and I couldn’t believe what kind of people do pass the test for soldiers. Throughout the years, I have also heard a lot of stories from the wars that my friends sadly had to go to. This is just a small taste of what is going on out there, when the boredom takes over the young man’s mind. Some guys I understand, but some of them need to get their heads slammed with a thick encyclopedia. Yup, it’s mostly funny looking at all of this from a far away, but out there in the trench… Not a game. People pay their mistakes with their lives, so I looked at this like a very serious mishap.

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Battle formations

Two day we spent preparing for the big day. Our king didn’t bothered to come out of his tent for all that time. I was told he was planning on how to defeat the enemy. Forest was thick, and the scouts were many. They patrolled the dark vegetation, turning rocks and hiding behind broad tree trunks, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the Zarian Honor Cavalry.

We had to march for five days in circle, running away from the Zarian horde of riders and mounted archers that gave us little sleep, even less rest. Our cavalry has been dispatched away in search for help from the surrounding villages and towns, known for aiding Ildock and avoided for the same reason. We had to stall to gain more time, but was it worth it? We have lost more than a hundred men trying to outrun the light cavalry. Poor souls couldn’t keep up the pace with the main force anymore and they were ran down by the swift riders, easy on their hoofs. It was a massacre, but for the greater goal.

As soon we reached the forestline, we were ordered to dig, dig deep, find water. Others used axes to level the hostile wilderness and build a wall around us. We had to do it quietly so the Zarians wouldn’t hear it. Two days we worked and then, the rider in green paused on the distant plain, proudly presenting gold bordered red banner.

– They are here!!! – a shieldbearer screamed running through the camp.

That night we all gathered around the fire for our last supper, when the advisor summoned me to the royal tent. I stepped in as the elected leader of infantry, when the king placed me in a circle around his ground.

– We have 2 000 battle ready troops and 200 cavalry. We stand no chance against 5 000 veteran riders in the open field. Battle axes gave them a scent of what are we doing, but ears spoke of illusion. They think we are here to stay, fortify ourselves in woodland, but we are not. We attack tonight. You, my trusted friend will lead your men against them. Carry only the most agile fighters, slit their throats in the dark, and leave them for the morning horrors when our cavalry gives them a run. The rest of the troops will wait here, on the sides of the forest, hidden beneath the hundred year old humus. The water you digged for, made a swamp at the other side of the battlefield, so the horses will drown and pull the foolish veterans into the soil’s mouth. Nowhere to run, nowhere to go, but to the glory of combat. – our wise king spoke to his officers.

They all looked at him as under a spell with sparks in their eyes and renewed spirits, but I wasn’t fresh in the skirmish. I scratched my beard, looked at the floor with the drawn lines on it and thought of our chances to stretch so wide and spacious. I caught my king’s gaze, wondering why am I not cheering in joy of the enemy’s bloodbath.

– Your Undyingness, I am afraid your plan is farfetched. Your expectations to pull such a dead is… – I saw his lip shaking in anger, – It is too much Sire.

– Is it now?… – an awkward pause ensued following the mutual looks of other leaders, – I did sent for the army, and they have replied. Over 500 men march our way, crossing the hills as we speak. Some reports speak of them entering the forest. This is all I have, and I have more than Zarians think. You have more than them. You have terrain in your favor, you have skill fighting on foot, while the Zarian horse riders have too much pride of fighting dismounted… You have a King giving you commands, their forces have no leader! They are a snake with no head! – he yelled the last one leaning in my face, then he paused, walked two steps looking away and turned at me once again, – It was an illusion, my friend. All we try is to deceive our enemies into thinking we are bigger than them, just this time, we will do the exact opposite. We will do the unthinkable. We will destroy them where they stand. Make sure you cut the throats of their banner riders first. They will fly with no heading, hitting every obstacle we provide them. There are more traps placed around us. Scouts didn’t sleep on their duty. All we need is to take out a third of them and make other flee into the forest. They will find beartraps and our cavalry running them down. It was all an illusion… Now fall to command and rest easy.

Soon we got back to our posts, informed our soldiers of battle to come and listened our commands to the last letter. It ended as our King has foreseen. The Zarians charged without order, shooting at the wooden walls we made to capture their speed, and when we were close enough to smell the fresh horse shit, the meat grinding has begun.

 Illusion

06 Flanking Attack

Advices I was issued with

No war today, but something very close to it. No winning was done without commitment, sacrifice and shed sweat. Some of you know my aspirations and goals, so along my way of searching for friendly faces I have been issued with some advices. Pretty simple one, but powerful. It didn’t matter what I write about or the quality of my storytelling powers. I was told that those could be trained and mastered with a proper higher ranking writer, so I was issued with one. The command was clear: “Commit to your writing and never give up. If you need me to repeat myself ever again, you have failed your journey. To stop is to DIE! So ask yourself, do you want to die?”. With no other weapons but my quill, I headed for the monsters and adventure of seeking knowledge. Commit to your writing, as the passion and emotion you weave into the writing could not be faked or copied. I have stopped reading those motivational quotes, why? If you need to motivate a writer every now and then, what kind of writer is he? I repeat: Commit to your writing and something good will pop up. 47 followers on WordPress, 29 on Facebook, 7 on Twitter is my brigade and I am damn proud by every single one of them. That is so many times better than 0 followers.

To stop is to disappear. Don’t go that way. Stay as formidable force before your problems, my bredren in Quill.

 Commit

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A joke for you

This reminds me of a story of some guys that tried to pull a joke on the draft for military service. I don’t know is it true or not, but it’s sure as shit it made some people laugh.

A young man, 21 years old (age of Serbian boys when they are obligated to report in the military base and get enlisted for service), walks in the recruitment camp and starts frantically searching for something.

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First was the physical check out. They strip them in underwear and recruits fall in line while doctor is running the visual tests of the recruits constitution and body type (this is important because, based on your height, weight and body structure the military designates you for one of many military groups (army, navy, airborne etc.)). The man looks nervous and constantly asks for “a thing”, nobody knows what the thing is. Some officer asks the poor guy of what is it he is looking for and the recruit explains it’s a flat, thin thing, usually white and cubical shape. Officer figures out that the guy is talking about a piece of paper, but what kind of paper.

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Second was the check out for cognitive reflexes, but the recruit fails at every test, the search for paper goes on. He doesn’t listen to commands, nor he responds for call outs, he is searching for the paper. People around him are starting to grow impatient of his behavior and higher ranking officer steps in to see what is this commotion all about. Everybody start yelling at the recruit and beg him to tell them what paper is he looking for, but the poor guy doesn’t know how to explain. Officers start bringing him all sorts of paper, but that isn’t THE PAPER he is looking for.

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After couple of hours, officers decide to take this man to the psychiatrist and run the tests for madness. Recruit goes in the office, same story repeats itself. The man starts flipping tables, open the drawers, go through the folders in search for a paper he doesn’t find. This confused shrink observes the recruit and finds him mentally ill, and mentally ill people are not allowed to have a riffle, they are unfit for duty, so he signs a military release paper and hands it to the crazy recruit. Recruit reads the paper and says: This is the paper I was searching for.

Paper

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Coffee break

It was a while since I published something about my culture and this post has no views… So let me add some and share with my army. Yes, I will soon add more of this kind of things. I have few things I want to present to you, so stay tuned.

Dronstad

Intro

It is known that writers just LOVE coffee and pretty much everything that has coffee in it that will make them stay awake and concentrated on the writing. Losing a thought or forgetting where you were going with the plot can be a bitch sometimes; therefore, we overdose on coffee to keep our creative process running. Balkan is famous for heavy drinkers, coffee consumation, cigarettes and long hour parties. Almost every Balkan Boy or Girl knows how to make one, and they will gladly prepare a fresh pot whenever a guest arrives. When a Girl makes a good coffee, Balkan people say: “You can get married.” which means, she is able now to make hers husband happy. When a Balkan Boy makes a good coffee, people say: “You don’t need a wife.” which stands more humoristic than actual advice.

Kinds of coffee in Balkan

Because Balkan is in the…

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Life in a loop

It is important to break that loop of monotony and depression, cut the strings that hold you, move the rock from your chest and take a deep breath. It will be hard, as living in this day and age is hard, and nothing comes easy. Soldiers fight the wars that people back home couldn’t understand, and somehow the roles change when a young man sent to defend, returns home and forgets how not to fight. That is his loop of torment no one can help him with. One might ask him if he wants some assistance with his problems, but trained to depend on himself, he will probably deny such thing and throw himself in the horrifying agony called life, use his fists to defeat the opponent and rise a hero. It would help a lot if his enemy had face, or a body, but it doesn’t, so it is twice as hard. He wishes for his brothers on the right and left to aid him because he trusts them the most, but his platoon is in the same silent warfare. Loop is their worst nightmare that drains will and strength from them like quick sand in the swamp. Every day, it is on their mind. He might wash the dishes, build a porch, drive a car, play with his children, eat and sleep, but when he is zoned out, absent from conversation and distant with gaze… He is there, with the family he forgot in chaos.

 Loop

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Party Time – Yeah!

I almost begged the young girl to bring us more beers, but she didn’t cared to listen to me until I pulled few more purples and gave it to her for being such a darling. She gave me a smile too, and a moment later the beer knocked on the top of our table.

– Fuck Ildocians! Fuck them all! – Amar yelled from the top of his lungs, turning around in smoky room, spilling the half of his drink.

– Sit down! You are drunk! Ha, ha, ha! You idiot. – I tossed it to him while trying to light my shisha and failed.

– No! Fuck them! Seriously, they are no good for anything else but fucking!… Ha, ha, but-fucking! They are a bunch of faggots, aren’t they?! Women run the Elite Dread Guard, Aramon be Great! D’a fuck is that?! What man, let’s his wife go fight his wars, ha?! Faggots I tell you! – he kept screaming, bumping the other guests and irritated the band in the corner by meddling with their instruments.

– Sit down! They will throw us out! – I said when an older fellow borrowed me his lighter.

– Let them try! See this?! – he shook his emblem on military uniform, pointing it at my face, – I am the Zarian soldier! I am the one who will defend these folks from the Ildocians… – he took a sip, sang for a bit and crashed on the chair next to me, leaned all the way back, – They are already on the march, you know that? They will be here in four days and here we are, drinking and smoking. D’a fuck is wrong with us? – he made a funny face of discontent and took another sip.

– It’s just life! That’s where we live! Thousands of years have passed and the Ildocians still haven’t found any other way of living except of raiding, looting, pillaging the villages and cities! That’s who they are!

– Nooo. They are vultures, leaches, a stinking piLE OF SHITS! That’s who those fuckers are! A shity faggots! Yes! I am right and you know it! – Amar smiled again, rose on his feet and started dancing.

Girls laughed at the fool that kept falling, bumping into people and irritated the musicians. Some grey hair men watched him, moved their heads away from him and hid veterans regret, while the waitress avoided his stinking breath and pulled off his arms from her ass. Some guests were aware of what will happen to him in five days, some tried to figure out his behaviour, but had no power to meddle with the soldiers in dusty bar. Me? I knew against whom we are up against, that’s why I allowed Amar his last party. Ildocian meddling in our busyness never stopped.

 Meddle

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