The Boots Told the Story

It wasn’t much to see, not much time to see then, but it was day 2 of “the war,” I think, that I saw my first dead enemy bodies.

The following was conceived literally from 3/10 of one split second of my life. Refer to title again, please.

Thank you, so as I was saying – the humvee I was traveling in, shotgun, was progressing in a tank company (Delta) convoy. We were moving ABOUT 30 kph, thus the tiny increment of time in which the aforementioned boots had their say.

Of course, remember this is now after years of reflection and refraction. It took awhile to “see.” Three-Tenths of One Split-Second…that’s not really “awhile,” is it?

Moving on – so though we drove by what Recon Platoon had made a mess of at a “rapid” pace, I was able to garner this: two dead enemy FANATICS. Both next to an untenable concrete defense, also both laid out, stripped completely naked, to their underwear. Nothing around them, ‘cept one. ONE body had a pair of boots next to it. The following is what the boots have said.

Enemy A, Enemy B lets call them, lest I offend the dead. Anyways, A and B were DEFINITELY “loyal” to their cause, which was dying; and we in return, were loyal to ours, which happened to be killing, and needless to say, (which always proceeds what is then said, heretofore) those causes match up rather well, in my case. So I’m establishing this notion, that they stood up, back to back, against an entire Recon Platoon of a Tank Battalion, of The United States Marine Corps. If you’re not familiar with that scale, let me inform you – that’s not good odds for them.

BUT, disdain them not, reader please. Guts, insanity, whatever…they had something in them notable. Their ending is at least being recorded here.

Okay, the boots are pretty much the ones talking now. It may be odd, but you’re just going to have to accept the idea of hearing a story from a pair of boots.

So Recon Platoon has “done their” work and has proceeded on. A certain short period of time is about to pass before my vehicle, in every sense at the tip of the spear, will drive by, in the section leading point for the Battalion. Technically, out of the author’s “situation of awareness,” so one may question.

Although the author may try to hide things from a reader, boots never could.

A and B are liquidated; 2 or 3 seconds pass as they receive their wages for war, and expire in a nasty fashion. They are Fetayeen. Dressed in black ninja suits, without face masks. Total fanatics of saddam’s regime. (yes I know I didn’t capitalize his name. But writing george bush wouldn’t upset the dude writing, so accept please, that we didn’t much respect OUR “feet” if you will)

We feel the feet inside us go limp, FINALLY! And our master’s reign was over, we thought. We’re on B. We see my buddy pair on A also in the same predicament. There’s some time passing, not much. But the sound of Recon Platoon “proceeding” got quieter and disappeared. We rightly assumed the rest would be coming by. We didn’t predict what would happen before then.

So, as we were saying, our master’s feet went dead with the rest of him, and we could smell freedom. My buddy pair on A was pleased. For the same obvious reasons. But, for now, we were stuck, as it was.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, these other PEOPLE are upon our master’s bodies! SHIT! was our first thought, but thanks to the author, we would end up with our story told.

These PEOPLE were removing everything from the bodies of A and MY B! Whoever they were, I can tell you they didn’t exactly treat our master’s egregiously destroyed bodies with respect. These PEOPLE were like jackals at a fresh carcass, eating as the lions approach – or like an entire Tank Battalion was headed their way. I was amazed at how fast my former master’s pockets were emptied, literally dozens and dozens of dollars (thousands of Iraqi Denar, before the war) were taken first, then weapons. These were gone before we realized what was happening.

Next shirt and pants were going and gone! Of course, AS USUAL, we were the last to go, although we never can figure out why people would turn pants inside out to get them off before us. I guess PEOPLE in a hurry will do strange things…

Now was fate time. Destiny will rear it’s severed head. A’s boots were being tried on first to a new master. Oh shit! they exclaimed as they realized first, they FIT, second, it was on one of THEM! They were doomed. There were two other PEOPLE rifling through both of THEM’S gear and equipment; we knew we would face our fate at least twice more. Would we ever be free?

The first of these PEOPLE grabbed us, and matched us up to their long-bare feet. CHA-CHING! No match! Sweet freedom, so swiftly stolen AGAIN from A’s pair, was one PERSON away, from us.

Wait?… What’s that sound? PERSON 3 quickly hears it too, and though long-bare-footed also, he could hear the USMC’s First Tank Battalion coming, and choose wisely, without ever checking if we fit or not, to egress the position post-haste. His two companions also made like nothing and disappeared. We never got to know who we fit again, maybe‚Ķ

And so it came quickly to pass, that the author’s humvee came a-rollin’ past; and there we sat, proudly free at last! Though alone next to two dead bodies, stripped to their underwear and already, to our tuned sense, starting to stink, we were finally on our OWN! Our scenery would remain so for an unknown time, but for 3/10 of one split second, guaranteed by the author, WE WERE FREE! And this is a smile from the great magnet.

As it was and is, our story ends here; and thusly, so the author’s does too.
thanx Hunter Thompson for “the Great Magnet.” You are sourly…sorely missed.

Categories: Various Miscellany

About Matthew Clayton

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