By Biltong

*Jack receives the news of a casualty of war.

*********************************

I lay on my stomach, my one arm stretched out in front of me, clutching a handful of light brown sand, as if mutely appealing the unforgiving earth for help. Not that any help, when it eventually arrived, would be welcomed.

For me there would be no antiseptic hospital, no cute nurses to chat up, awed by my tall tales. For me there would merely be imprisonment, if not instant death.

Or maybe I would die a slow death, slowly baked into the afterlife by the harsh Iraqi sun.

For I was wearing desert cammo’s, making me blend perfectly into the surrounding area, as the designers in Washington had intended.

…

God, I was so thirsty.

I tried to reach for my canteen; I really did, but couldn’t make either arm move. Maybe it was the shock of hitting the ground so hard. Or maybe it was my head. I could feel the blood pooling around where my cheek pressed into the ground

Dear God, I hoped it was merely a head wound, and not paralysis. I couldn’t move if I was paralyzed.

I was aware of crying salty tears into the ground, washing away the blood, and desperately tried to stop myself, not because it was the macho thing to do, but because it would deplete my already dwindling supply of water.

…

"Colonel O’Neill, I am so sorry."

I was unable to respond, staring mutely down at the military gray carpet, by back ramrod straight.

General Hammond, thank God, understood..

"I’m sorry," he said again.

"I was aware that you knew Colonel Priven well, that’s why I undertook to notify you personally."

My voice was dry, as dry as it had been all those years ago.

…

"Does CENTCOM know what happened?"

My voice failed me as I heard once more the distant sound of the desert at night, a lonely eerie sound.

A sound like no other on earth.

Hammond bent his head and shuffled papers, aware of my distress.

"They are still trying to ascertain what happened, Colonel. All I can tell you is what I have already done so, that somehow his Eagle was hit by enemy fire and he bailed out."

"The marines found him later that morning."

He looked up from his desk, his eyes meeting mine.

"If it is any consolation Jack, we believe he was shot to death before he reached the ground. For certain he was long dead by the time the first ground forces found him."

I felt the rush of hot tears behind my eyes and snapped my eyelids shut, swallowing hard, not speaking until I had my emotions firmly back in their familiar little box.

Some consolation.

…

For Josh there was no pain, no thirst, no degradation at the hands of people who believed you were worse than a dog.

Josh had been spared that.

Josh had also been spared another stab at life. What consolation was that?

My hot eyes met those of my C.O’s and I saw him flinch.

"No sir, that is no consolation at all."

Like most of the world, I believe the Coalition forces were too hasty in their plans.

Another month of arms inspections would not have harmed anyone.

Now the dead are mounting.

War is never pretty.

Death is never pretty, nor entertaining, no matter how CNN, Sky and the other 24 hour news stations portray it.

But the deed is done.

The dye is irrevocably cast.

Now lets go get the fucker.

BeTa Tested (and in wholhearted agreement) by CiGiK - Cape Town - South Africa - 8th April 2003