Today, I have been inducted, commissioned into an army. An unconventional army, who's soldier's are mercenaries, not bound by duty or country, but for personal gain. These are men and women encompass all races and religions. They wear different uniforms, some signify their stature, some camouflaged, and some minimal.
As I roll through the gates of the last checkpoint before the battlefield, an electricity runs through my body. I have trained for so many years for this moment. I have checked and rechecked my weapons, I have ammunition, but if I were to run out , there are depots on the battlefield.
I must reconnoiter my way to the “front lines”. I see over a battalion of soldiers, broken up into smaller units. As I search for the most strategic point available, I see weaponry of all types. Long range, small arms, mobile transport units, and older munitions that seemed to have been past down through the generations. I still have a long trek until I get to my desired position.
The enemy is fast and elusive, their survival skills are unsurpassed. They have enlisted fierce, nomadic, warriors known as the “Pelagics”, the Special Operators of the sea's. This combined force seems to be unstoppable, they live and fight on instinct alone.
Situated, my mission is to capture the “conscripts”, soldiers that have little to lose and fight for there lives daily. I must seize as many as possible and put them in to my containment units. The strategy is to later dangle them in front of the enemy and lure the higher ranking officers into my grasp.
As I look at my brother's and sister's of arms, I see snipers, (lone wolves), squads of soldiers, and small units that specialize in guerrilla warfare. Occasionally, a soldier will break off from their unit to perform a solo recon mission. If the ammunition and equipment run low, these soldiers will take advantage of absences and acquire other squads equipment.
The fighting is fast and furious, I look down to our naval forces. They seem to be in shambles, not following the “rules of engagement” there is sure to be some friendly fire incurred! I am a well oiled fighting machine, my age and experience exemplify what a true soldier does on the field of battle.
After what feels like days of fighting, I am drenched in sweat, hands covered in blood. The smell of death is in the air. Casualty’s and ammunition lie on the ground as far as the eye can see. I am tired, reinforcements are beginning to flow in. I must rest, I must replenish and maintain my equipment. I must, withdraw and present my report to headquarters.
Fishing The Skyway Bridge
Published by: Guy Harvey’s The Online Fisherman April 2016