The dangerous wind of war bellows on my breast, and soldiers scream for their mothers, and blood dots the land.  Many are gone, good and young and bright-eyed men and women, gone in droves since the war began. The field of battle lies daunting before us. I think, to fight is to die. 

Those still with me are sobered and weary, the trials of this time crushing each soul one by one, and tears well in the eyes of the gentler among us. The light has drained from them. Their guns and knives tremble in their aching fingers while their heads bow.  

I search for my sense of reason and detach from any temptation of woe. I feel the earth with my palm. It is warm still, from the setting sun, and I feel the strength in it. It is the same earth I felt as a boy playing with my sister in my grandmother's yard. She loved us deeply and wanted a good life for us. I feel her spirit now. This is our earth, and the earth of all free people, and that feeling of freedom and peace is not gone from me yet; this life be fought for now. 

must I let my mind drift to a state of dreams. Visions of the abolitionists who took up arms, joined by thousands of newly freed slaves to fight against tyranny and oppression. Those activists pushed to the ground by big men with guns, stepped upon, abducted, abused, who went down screaming. Those in the French Revolution who defied corrupt monarchy in pursuit of the spirit of reason and freedom and equality for all people. I thought of my Native American brothers and sisters who fought until they could no more, for to die with dignity is the only option when faced with such malignant despicable genocidal force. 

I hear gun blasts and wailing. 

"Henry, why are you here now?" I ask. 

Henry raises his sunken brow and meets my eyes. His are bloodshot with smoke, and he rubs them and sits straighter. "Because my brother died for this cause. I loved my brother, and I admired him, and if this is what he thought was right, then it is right to me." Anna, adjacent to him, places her hand on his shoulder as he spoke. "They imprisoned my father for what he taught us. He wouldn't stop until they took him, and my mother cried. So, my brother Jimmy went off to fight. She couldn't stop him. She cried more when we got news. She's tough though, you know." Henry clenched his jaw for a moment, then smiled a little, and look at us intently. "She told me to go, go and be strong like them. She knew I was dying to fight. So... I'm here, Sarge." 

 
 An explosion. Debris and shrapnel smack our modest camp, and I taste metal in my mouth, and we duck low. Fear latches our hearts yet again. A chopper arcs across the red sky. We watch as it meets artillery fire, ruptures in brilliant orange, and descends like a swooping bird. Soldiers lie dying only meters from our spot. Our ears rack and ring, the ground rumbles.  

I signal my squadron closer and take their trembling hands in mine. I feel the grip of fear in my throat. I force a deep breath, and swallow, and let it fuel me once again, finding conviction. I stare like a cutting diamond into the eyes of my soldiers. 

"The world watches us now. Those dead and alive. Our brothers and sisters and our mothers and fathers. Our ancestors also, with all their kindness and strength. May we watch each other now, and may we trust each other till the end of time. Dying is not what we fear. But do die without living our truest breath, that is hell." 

"So, what do we breathe for now? Is it fear? Is it self-preservation? Is it tyranny and ignorance? I know it is not, my family. We breathe for freedom, we breathe for peace, we breathe for respect. We breathe for heaven! We breathe for everything good on this earth, and may we be immortal now, while our hearts still reach for a beautiful world, where all people may progress together. In the name of the loving universe we fight. May the strength of heaven inspire us now! May we move forward in revolution, for it is truly a time of freedom. May we die fighting! 

And with this, we rise, our sullied brigade shining like gold, and the sea of battle parts before us. Our numbers, while small, are as a hundred mighty armies. Our bullets meet these tyrants in their arrogant chins. Their blue, white, red, black, and most pitiful abhorrent flags dash to the ground, and we stomp them underfoot. These sick men and women fall in droves before us.  

 

They all succumb to their fear, no longer wielding such heightened power as only those most honorable among us may, for their forefathers and foremothers frowned and struck them heavily from upon high, and bid them farewell to do better in their next life, for in this one they had gone awry. On a later dawn may we weep for them, these pitiful souls. May we weep for them.  

 
Not one more of our people fell then, not until the dawn rose and light imbued us most fully. Hunger departed from us — hunger for happiness, for grace, for beauty; and we had it all there, then or in the coming times, as white flags raised.