Time and times again I get disappointed. Is it in myself? Or is it towards the organisation I have vowed to follow?
Several times it happens. I momentarily lose faith in my promises to the world, again and again. Nothing is feels constant. Change is the only constant.

I look around and see the faces of my self-proclaimed brothers in arms. Am I one of these guys?
Dominated by lust, vanity and pride. They all made it to this point either with mere luck or by pure show-off. I cannot see my self identified. I am the loose link in the chain. I am on the outside looking inside. Or is it the way around?
One thing is certain: The way is not peaceful. Nor is it chaotic. It’s an irritating piece of gray goo. Feelings undeniably being pushed away by strange thoughts of blind contentment and future feelings of peace and ancient greatness. Often replaced to stand in the shadowy corner away from the spotlight, witnessing the other one taking the stage to recieve applause and tainted glory.
The old ones would see us as the wolf pack who followed the most beautiful angel God ever created, a.k.a. the bearer of light, earning our fate as hellhounds of an illusionary reality.
In the end though, we are all caged animals..

…

Enough of self despite and dellusional lies.
Time continue to show it’s inevitable control of our lives and grants me a feeling of pleasure when thinking of the not-so-far “leave”. Meanwhile we still conduct operations that stretches outside our previous jurisdiction. Giving high ranked officers the creeps, now used his big salary and to the warmth, calm and security that the chair at the computer desk has to offer.
Scouring across the Afghan fields and leaving a shoemark on their very doorstep, they shall know that we are not the ones that are hunted. We are the hunters. Our heritage and ranger brand tell it literally in our own native language.

Reconnaissance missions has been prioritized, giving us the details we need. Different village elders tells us the stories. Stories of how they come in the night, the ones without faces, and pray on their already poor resources. Stories of how they attack and slaughter other fellow human beings under a time of prayer, showing no religious respect. Other stories of how they come and take young men away from their families, never to be heard from again. They call them “not human”. Their shield is culture and religion. Their tools of trade is fear and lies.
Which reminds me of a saying that one of my comrades recited:

“Fear is the mindkiller. Fear is the little death that brings total oblitiration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past me, I will turn to see fear’s path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
 

The words speak and burry themselves in the grounds as unshaken foundations.

 
I’m sure that’s what they would want me to say…
In any case, I don’t really give a damn anymore. Just give me what I want (?) and send me back, or even further if that is your wish, my Lord. Insha’Allah.

I love this life. I will see you soon, my love.

Dreams. They’ve become more vivid lately. Or is it lucid? I can’t really tell.
They prove to be a transformation and the sum of my daily thoughts, at least.

Water. All to often I regard it to be an infinite resource. As many others of my brethren on this planet. I disregard the thought and take for granted the amount of water I, alone, consume under one day in the timeline of our lives.
They say that the Earth’s surface has about seventy percent water compare to landmass, that ninety percent of life lives in the sea and even that the human body is made up of about seventy percent water aswell.
We, who read these words of undespicable truth, are part of one out of ten humans on the planet that should consider ourselves lucky. Or should we?

Yes, we should. In my dillusional perspective we have been granted a freedom that our ancestors could only dream of. Even if it’s only a fraction of a peace and freedom that we could ultimately achieve…

Read back. In my northern motherland a lot of people question the reason of having bottled water – reasoning that we always could pur water in a bottle from our kitchen or alike. This sort of “reasoning” is a luxury that few humans can thrive of. Even though it really should be a right to have clean water near your home for everyone. In my current position though, i’ve declined people that right. I’ve turned them down when they kiss my feet and look at me with hungry eyes… Why I say? Because we are only suppose to be here for their protection. They tell us not to give them anything, otherwise they would flock around us and overwhelm us in greed. We are the embodiment of security, favoured sons of the Archangel Michael and defenders of the true democracy that some alcoholic american politician made up when he was high…

Security of what?! A secure f*cking way towards their and our own apocalyptic, hateful, mind-numbing shitfaced doom considering how we all don’t give a **** about anything but our own egoistic and awesome lives.

– “I am so sorry…”
 – “It’s O.K. (zero killed).”
– “Is this another test?”
 – ” Yes.”
 

 
 Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth? – 2:21 Ecclesiastes

Both Christmas and New-Years eve has passed by quite painlessly. I didn’t feel anything remarkable on any of them, once again giving me a feeling of pure detachment from human tradition and culture, a feeling I truly embrace at times like this. The people of Afghanistan and their culture dates back to the year 632, when Muhammad died and became the martyr prophet, creating one of the largest known religions we know about today. Their timeline to this day according to the Hijri calendar (or Islamic calendar) is 1433, and they celebrate their new-year sometime this spring.

Our days are filled, as usual. Every day is planned and nothing really goes to spare. My commander has pointed out several times that his goal is that we aren’t suppose to be inside the camp, but outside “doing our job” as much as possible. I produce the thought, “Sure thing”, while pushing away the lazy-human-side I got inside of me.

The weeks has also given us time to adapt. As said, i’m getting accustomed to the thought of getting up early and going to bed late. I’m getting accustomed of always having my assault rifle at hand and daily having to walk around in my personal combat gear, ready for a war that seems way too distant at times. I’m also getting quite accustomed to be welcomed by villagers throwing stones at us or giving us the finger, while the next village may cheer at our visit like saviours. I’m getting accustomed of having green vision during night patrols while a Reaper class drone with hellfire missiles is howering above us. What I never really get accustomed to, and never fail to get astonished about, is the sight of the mighty mountain chain of Hindu Kush who casts it’s shadow upon our mortal souls while streching out like a spine of the earth, in the not so far south. The mountains itself have a direct connection to the Himalayas and the name Hindu Kush litterally means “Kills the Hindu” in English. History lessons tells the stories of slaves transported from India that died in the harsh weather that is typical for the Afghan mountains. Hence, the name.

I miss a lot though. I can give you that. Eventually though, I know I will miss all this. So I try everyday to enjoy everything as it is. That is my conquest.

Lance Corporal Fresh, out.