Night in the Bush
Keith Nightingale
The sudden rush of dark-like thunder. Surprise of silence. Instant cathedral for the mind.
Breathing echoes. Fear wells. Faith in numbers.
Straining to hear, to see, to discern. Doubt and shadows.
Whispered instructions. Slight movements. Learn to feel.
Water, rats, chow, ruck, weapon, grenade. Shoulder to shoulder. The others are left and right. I think. I hope.
Quiet descends other than the building noise of the mind.
Once ignored local life becomes dominate. The lizard, the mosquito, the frog. Something is disturbing the phosphors. A deep roar. Sweat.
Movement is highlighted. The radio sounds deafening. Break squelch twice.
Furtive glows and smells. Someone is cheating. Ponchos crackle and squeak.
Can they hear?
How come they are so quiet and we so loud? Is it a native thing?
Will I die in the dark?
Rain starts as a sound. Then an impact. Now a soak. The sound covers everything.
Huddle with a helmet absorbing the blows. An incredibly loud lullaby.
Dark and rain are nature’s contradictory nightly poisons and soporifics.
Scary solace.
Distant amber flares, spiraling with greenish glow. Hissing into silence.
Do we need their comforting presence?
They help the bad guys as much as us. Hiding is good.
Alone is a grateful gift. Sometimes.
Ambush needs dark. Works both ways.
The high speed hardpack glistens and glows. Even in the dark.
The tread of many feet begins as a sense, then a feel, then a sound. Now a crash.
Brilliant lights, flashes, darts and trails, explosive streaks and thundering noise.
Cartridges pinging off of helmets, links echoing from branches. The snap and explosive satisfaction of the Claymore clacker.
Grunts, groans, screams, breaths and shouts. Wow? Am I alive?
Dark enshrouds the scene and quickly cloaks the mind. Sweep. Search. Pick. Move out.
Artillery provides a warm background blanket for the moment.
Back.
Behind the ruck.
Alive.
Too much on the mind to sleep.
The dawn creeps and alerts to life.
Only 12 hours. The gift of daylight and the perils of the dark.
The dark is life and death. Night has gifts and penalties: Chance is king.
The mind is the lightbulb. Use sparingly and with care.