The soldier closed his eyes and through his mind’s eye, saw what the plain had looked like three years ago before the war had started-
The soil had been baked by the sweltering sun except in places where it was shaded by trees; bushes and pebbles lay scattered across the vastness; a soft glow of serenity had characterized the expanse and when one looked across the plain land, one would want to keep sprinting across without a care in the world, stopping only for breath.
-Now the soldier opened his eyes- to death.
The plain lay raped by the massive tanks, bomb scars; it was marred by the blood and bodies of the dead.
Three years the war had lasted, and even now it went on, causing morbidity among people of both sides.
The enemy had wanted their lands-they were greedy, filled to the brim with boundless avarice.
The soldier thought that it was highly ironic that this war was costing the enemy more than what he would get by conquering them.
Conquest would make the soldier’s people slaves. It would ruin their values and their way of life, and their culture would be lost forever.
Their identity, their footprint would be erased and superimposed by the enemy’s ostentatious mark.
Even if I die today to save my people, my people will live on to preserve our race. We shall not be violated, and we shall not submit!
But three years of warfare had taken a toll on resources, and their lease was running out. One day they would be conquered, as the enemy seemed to be in possession of an infinite amount of resources.
The enemy’s resources came through a heavily guarded pass behind the enemy’s camp. It was impregnable from the front and anyone who attempted to penetrate the back was fatally gunned down by sentry snipers.
Once they captured an enemy soldier and tortured him into revealing the password which merchants used to gain entry into the enemy camp. They had once tried to disguise themselves as merchants who supplied food and ammunition to the enemy. But the enemy was smart. They changed their password every single day.
Now their only hope was to block the pass through which supplies came to the enemy.
There was only one way to do that, and that was a landslide from the cliff above into the pass below.
The landslide had to be triggered with twenty five kilograms of firepower; the sentries guarding the cliff would certainly detect the movement of that much of dynamite.
That day, the soldier decided to smuggle twenty five kilograms of dynamite into one of the crevices on the cliff, and light the fuse.
When it exploded, it would cause the massive rocks above it to shatter; there would be a landslide, and the pass would be blocked.
Without reinforcement of resources, the enemy would have to surrender or die, and either would be a victory for them.
It was 1 a.m. when the soldier strapped on the last fragment of dynamite onto his body.
When he stood up, his legs almost gave way under the weight, but he staggered forward, determination writ large on his face and in his mind.
He slipped, but did not fall. He cried in pain, but he did not ease his grip.
His body weakened, but he did not weaken his resolve.
All the while, he prayed really hard that the sentries above would not spot him. Adrenaline pumped within him and he was breathing heavily, and sweat was beginning to seep through his Kevlar vest and moisten the dynamite.
When he reached the top, there stood sentry no. 1, back towards the soldier.
The soldier threw himself on the sentry with full force, the weight of the dynamite aggravating the impact. The sentry succumbed to the sudden onslaught and fell heavily to the ground.
Before the sentry could raise an alarm, a gun barrel flew towards him and made contact with his jaw. He blacked out.
The soldier was exhausted. He sunk to his knees and crawled towards one of the crevices. Before he could reach there, he felt a sharp blow on the head which temporarily blinded him. He turned and saw the blurry image of the standing Sentry no. 2.
Pain engulfed him, and his world was falling into darkness…
My people. My lands. FREEDOM! Cried the soldier within his aching head.
Not heeding the excruciating pain, and his determination feeding him strength, he scrambled at high speed towards the crevice, and when he reached inside the crevice, received another blow from sentry no. 2.
The soldier spat blood. He was dying; he needed a lighter. He could make out that there was some sort of disturbance in the distance, and he could vaguely make out sentry no. 3 running towards him.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t get his lighter. I can’t die for nothing, he cried. Tears of pain streamed down his fear contorted face.
In the distance, he could make out that sentry no. 3 was pointing a gun at him. He was about to fire. At that time, sentry no. 2 started screaming.
“DON’T SHOOT! HE’LL EXPLODE! IT’LL TRIGGER THE DYNAMITE!”
A rifle shot rent the air. At that moment, the soldier laughed at the thought of the enemy committing suicide by shooting at him.
Just moments later, a deafening, thunderous explosion shook the roots of the cliff; rocks rocketed out, boulders rolled out, and along with these were thrown up tons of soil. All displaced by that gigantic explosion.
The landslide came crashing down, not only upon the pass but also upon the enemy camp, causing unprecedented damage.
The soldier’s side had won. His sacrifice will remain etched in his people’s minds forever. And tales of his valor will be told and retold.
As generations pass, people’s storytelling abilities will make him a superhero that had come to save the people. A legend that will never be lost.
