Children on An Altar

The revolting stench of petrol and burnt flesh that hung in the hot, dry, still air should have turned his stomach. But it didn’t. Not anymore.
He was glad to be away from what had been a walled family compound, if only for the few minutes it would take to complete the radio-check, give a status report, and await any news or orders from Command.
Now unconsciously ever-vigilant, Chad was “relaxed” as he strode towards the Hummer, various sub-programs deep in the foundation of his mind furiously processing, continuously assessing any and every motion of any object or shadow; any change in sound or sounds; any “feeling” of imminent danger. It had been the business of his long-ago vanished, ancient ancestors to survive in dark forests and vast savannahs filled with creatures that were much stronger and faster than they were. Creatures that wanted to kill and eat them.
These ancestors had bequeathed to him a set of instincts that-though long dormant-were now thrivingly alert: he was totally aware of his surroundings, and his body would be prepared to either fight to the death, or flee like the wind to preserve his life if the need arose.
And there were things out there that wanted to kill him. This was a matter of fact.
He reached their Hummer. The appointed time arrived, and he completed the radio check: it still worked, HQ was still there, and they knew that he was still alive. There was nothing to do now but wait for word from The Great and Powerful Oz (the Colonel-or actually, an NCO who spoke for Him). Chad broke out his metal canteen cup, rooted around in his ruck for the jar of instant coffee, some packets of non-dairy creamer, and some sugar. He blew the sand and dust from the cup and mixed a healthy dollop of coffee with the rest to kill the bitterness. He poured half of it into his mouth and began to chew. He followed up with a quart of water and repeated. The adrenalin from the last several hours was wearing off, and he knew neither how long he had been awake, nor when he would sleep again. Thus, the jolt.
Chad eased himself into the Hummer to escape the direct rays of the sun, pulled his weapon in behind him, and lit a smoke. He removed his helmet and began to stare into the bright blue canopy which vaulted far above the sadness below it. He regarded the sky and considered that there were billions of people under that same sky who were living “real life” in a world that was becoming less and less comprehensible to him with each and every passing day. In that world, life didn’t seem to include the ever-present reality that death could sweep in out of nowhere at any time for anyone. A delusion. If he made it home, he wondered what it would be like now that he knew, understood the ephemeral, fragile, unpromised nature of life.
But he wanted to go home, to that dream world. But when and if he ever saw home again was totally and absolutely out of his control: a large swath of Southwest Asia; the continent of Africa (or Europe); and a vast ocean separated him from it, and only the powers-that-be could return him. And only when they saw fit: he was already past his ETS, the date upon which he should have been already honorably discharged from the army and sent home.
Were he to let all of this truly sink in, it would have driven him insane. So, he didn’t.
He quickly sought another topic of internal discussion and found one.
Something safe, eternal, non-temporal:
Why was it first, the first one? The others seemed to be so well-grounded in nuts-and-bolts common sense: “Listen to your Mom and Dad”- Chad was finding out all the time how important this one was. Much grief would have been avoided had he heeded it more consistently. “Don’t go around murderin’ folks”-speaks for itself; “no stealin’, thievin’”; “no spreadin’ rumors, lies”; “Keep your mind and your mitts off of your neighbor’s stuff-especially his wife”; and, if you are married, “don’t cheat”. These all made good sense, and had they been adhered to by far more people, the world would have been a much better place.
So, why was “you shall have no other gods before me” first? Narcissism? He was, after all, God Almighty, so…why not? Who had a better claim, or more of a right to some self-absorption than He did? Right? Or did it “just happen” to be first?
Or was it a warning? A profoundly important and dire warning. Like Mom’s constant and, ultimately, unheeded warnings against playing with fire when he had been a little child. And as painful as the mild burns on his little fingers had been, the consequences were-thank God-nowhere near as catastrophic as they might have been.
He had discovered for himself the painful consequences of disobeying commands of hers the nature of which he could not grasp, could not understand.
Her warnings had been all about love and protecting her child.

Chad pulled a peanut butter granola bar-his favorite (sent to him by The Cool and Wonderful Mom)-from his cargo pocket and began to munch. He retrieved a cardboard-backed, plastic-encased issue of Playboy from his ruck. He considered Miss March. She was beautiful. Gentle and kind. Thoughtful and caring, with a wry sense of humor. Her wonderful parents had carefully and lovingly attended to all of her physical, emotional, and spiritual needs: her’s was the countenance of a girl who was at peace with herself, with the world. And that world was a sane and well-ordered world. She enjoyed fine art, staying healthy and fit, cooking, and metaphysical inquiry: their conversations might last for hours. And she adored children, volunteering regularly at a nursery school in the village.
And he was returning to her, glad to be alive, the sleek, late-model Mercedes convertible gliding upon the wonderfully smooth, flawless road home; the warm, fragrant summer air a blessing as he moved through the beautifully-wooded hills. Work had been good. Another wonderful week of doing important and valuable things, things that people needed done, things that made their lives better. It had been challenging, fun, and, at times, difficult, but had nothing-nothing at all-to do with hurting anyone, killing anyone.
The woods gave way to a clearing filled with flowers, gardens she had assiduously cultivated. She was there, waiting for him in the door of their brightly painted Victorian home, surrounded by the gardens and towering, stately trees.
He gave to her flowers that he gladly brought to her every day. And she gladly accepted them as she always did.
And they were happy.
The wondrously beautiful composition of divinely-animated stardust embraced and kissed him, her mere existence proof that life was more than the aggregation of tragedies that it so often seemed to be.
She took his hand as they entered their home, captivating him with the mellifluous tones emanating from her lovely throat as she began to tell him of her day. Soft, golden light cascaded into the home she had so richly and tastefully decorated; the delicious aromas of some of his favorites wafted from the kitchen; and the beer that she handed to him was ice cold.
Chad was basking in the pleasure of being alive when a shadow suddenly appeared and quickly overtook this carefully and lovingly constructed world, extinguishing it.
It collapsed in upon itself and receded into the recesses of his mind.
“Hey, Preacher.” It was Chad’s Ace Boon, Dana.
“Hey, Elvis.” Though Dana was known by many of his loyal fans and supporters (and a few jealous detractors) only as Elvis, Chad only called him that when he was mildly annoyed with him.
Dana bore no remarkable physical similarity to The King-he was very blond with green eyes-but he hailed from the same neck of the Tennessee woods, had the same twang, and-probably most importantly-all the girls seemed to lose their minds in his presence.
Likewise, Chad was known to many as The Preacher only in small part due to his substantial ecclesiastical knowledge: he was not much of a proselytizer, but his grandfather was an ordained Baptist minister. It had been Dana who had let that cat out of the bag some time ago when, after Chad had graciously declined to partake of the delights of Victory Drive down at Fort Benning, the guys had ribbed him mercilessly. Dana explained that it was a matter of religious scruple.
Of course, Chad was glad to have them think him a tower of unflappable moral rectitude rather than have them know that he was just plain too shy: he would have been perfectly happy just to have held a girl for a while, kissed her, maybe. “One last time”-just in case-before his very first jump at jump school. The thought of his chute not opening had seriously crossed his mind: he had been scared, but all of the men in the Army he admired had wings on their chests, and his admiration of their fearlessness and various other attributes compelled him to emulate them.
Dana set his weapon down, leaning it against the Hummer. “Any news from The Wizard?”
“Nope. All is quiet on the western front.”
Dana laughed, “Don’t go jinxin’ us, Homey. Hey! You’ll never guess who I found out’s here!”
“Who?”
“Country!”
“”Country”…”Country”?! Carver?! From Basic?!”
“Yeah, man. Alive and well. Even got ‘em some stripes. Been at Bragg all this time.”
“Really? Bragg?”
“Yep. Don’t you remember? 11 Bang-Bang, Airborne Infantry. He’s been there longer than we have.” Their military intelligence and language training had been considerably longer than Country’s infantry school.
Chad smiled with genuine affection: Country had been a hoot, always laughing, cracking everybody up with his razor-sharp wit, with the Drill Sergeants always at him, vociferously casting doubt upon the authenticity of his G.E.D.:
“You ain’t got no G.E.D.!!! You too damn country to have a G.E.D.!!! Who you tryin’ to fool?!! You can’t even spell “G.E.D.”!!!”
Actually, Country was extremely intelligent, and could have done anything with a proper education, but the Worthies of a bygone era knew that it would have been extremely bad for business (mind-bogglingly lucrative business) if children who looked like him were ever educated. So they weren’t. And the tradition had lived on.
“So what’s he up to?”
“Same as us. Just in an “eleven bang-bang” kinda’ way: “fightin’ to keep our country free”.
They both laughed.
“I mean where’s he at right now?” Chad asked.
“Down yonder, by those humvees.” He was pointing at a cluster of vehicles a couple of hundred meters away. He lit himself a smoke. “He had some kinda’ formation to go to.”
“A formation? Out here? What for?” Chad was surprised: his and Dana’s outfit didn’t do a lot of the formation thing.
“To take those pills.”
“Pills? What pills?”
“You know. Homey, that stuff that’s supposed to “bond with our DNA at the chromosomal level” or some such crap, to block the chemical and nerve agents.”
Chad was incredulous. “What?! They put them in formation to take that stuff? Why? It’s voluntary.”
“For us it is. And get this; they think it’s all approved and safe.”
“Who told them that?”
“The Powers-That-Be.”
“Dude, they can’t get our pay straight-remember how they thought you were in Germany for the first six months we were at DLI, and you had to mooch off me half the time we were there?”
Dana replied ruefully “I do indeed, Homey. It was a dark and terrible time.”
“And now they want to play with our chromosomes? Are they high? What happens when all these guys start comin’ up with all kinds of freaky diseases; goin’ back home and makin’ babies with two heads? What then?”
“Beats me. I just know that I got ripped a new one a couple of days ago for saying “too much” about it. I was supposed to let you know that this info is on the low. I forgot. My bad.”
“No problem. Thanks, man. Good lookin’ out. But why would they do that, though?” Chad wondered.
“Who knows? There might be some money in it somewhere.”
The two patriotic young Americans-barely old enough to legally drink-were truly mystified: This was significant, large, too huge to consider-for the time being-in all of its myriad implications and potential ramifications.
So they didn’t.
“Jesus.”
“Yep.”
Dana broke the heavy silence that ensued, “Hey, Homey, how we doin’ on the fly-stuff your Mama sent. I do swear that that woman is “all that” and a piece of buttered toast.”
Chad smiled, “Yeah, she’s cool. We’re good. What’s up?”
“Man, I got us two-yes, two-cartons of smokes for a bottle. That stuff is worth its weight in gold, Dog.”
“Sweet! Good smokes, right?”
“You know it. So I’m off to the bazaar. I’m kickin’ it with Country and his people. Get yourself an MRE and let’s roll-they’re makin a fire. Bring your hot sauce.”
“Cool. Wait. I was gonna eyeball that compound one more time, just in case. I was only there for a second. Did you see anything?”
“Nothin’ good.” Dana’s face darkened, “Nothin’ but folks livin’ in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s all kinds of tore up in there, Dog.”
“Thanks, man. I’m cool. See ya in a minute.”
“Airborne.”

The dust in the shattered compound had settled, but the smoke had not yet cleared. The horrible smell remained. Dana had been right: there was nothing for them here. Who had done this? “Them”? Or “Us”? It mattered not a jot to the dead.
The angle of the sun was different as well: that’s probably why Chad found the little girl buried in rubble that the others had missed. The light made her eyes sparkle amidst the debris.
She was silent as he gently removed the heavy, jagged stones and brick from her tiny body. Her beautiful little face was remarkably untouched-this had given him a bit of hope, hope that was crushed when he saw her broken, bloody little torso.
She was beyond repair, and his heart was broken. A medic wasn’t going to fix this; a teleporter to Johns Hopkins wouldn’t have fixed this. He should have known from her eyes: crystal-clear, alert-yet somehow, distant. He had seen it before, a final kindness.
No pain.
She was four, maybe five. He hoped she didn’t understand what was happening, what had been taken from her. He wasn’t going to let this happen to her in loneliness and fear. She was probably cold.
He removed his gloves and gingerly cradled her.
She regarded him with a child’s frank inquisitiveness and curiosity. Her eyes were bright. She touched his face and managed a wan smile.
And she was gone.
Unbearable pain.
And sadness.
Then, a final kindness.

He felt nothing.