One Day of My Life

One last plate of mashed potatoes and beef stew·. One last clear sky to wake up to·. One last look at a pocket-sized photo·. A face that would soon be forgotten·. Walking out to a crowd of salutes and farewells, we were sent off with smiles and waves butsoon to be welcomed with tears of sorrow and regret. Leaving behind all that I cared aboutonce, risking it all for this one moment.

One day or one second, it did not matter.

We weremerely pawns in a game of chess and the next move could be their checkmate. What we did notknow was what was happening behind enemy lines. A meeting that supposedly did not occur,but did an enemy and ally meet.

We had already lost the battle before a single bullet had beenfired. Gears packed, weapons polished, ammunition loaded. Letters were written and envelopesstamped, those that would contain the final words of each and every soldier here in this basecamp.

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My one fear was the thought of getting left behind in the battlefield, even though therewere other fates worse than such. The feeling of being forgotten and left for dead was likeaknife that kept piercing through my heart.

I remembered once when I was a just a childIwatched this movie about a sailor who had experienced shipwreck and was stranded inunknown waters with limited food and clean water all alone in a 5 seater lifeboat for as longas 452 days, and this one day a ferry ship just happened to pass by his lifeboat and missedall his tireless attempts to get their attention.

Although he was finally rescued by a fishingboat as much as 200 days after the ferry ship had passed him."All but one knew what was truly about to happen. Though they did not question nor did theydisobey the orders of their commander who had everything he wanted yet nothing at all.

Something behind the scenes that most thought was unimportant, but everyone would soon seethe outcome. We were carved out like this, not to be who we were, but better. A picture ofaman with a face mask and a gun was all that was shown, an enemy.

Not telling who, not toldwhy, just a face, a face that would remain in their minds, one to aim at, one to kill. Once a manwho'd grown crops at a farm, a young boy selling fruits at a local market, a newlywed about togo on their honeymoon. Lives of each and every person changed that day, not for now but formany years to come to the memories of us brave souls.

Thus they rode on their saddles with hearts towards one goal. Although they each knew whatawaited ahead, a valley of guns, aimed high and low. Heads held high, an act of courage or anact of foolishness, maybe yet alive and kicking if they had accepted defeat.

A sudden storm, toodark to see, too loud to hear. Only the sound of thunder that was not thunder, and rain that didnot rain. In spite of it, they rode into the artillery smoke and broke through enemy lines,unfortunately not enough to cripple their guns, one last attack they yelled.

After the smokecleared and bullet shells stopped falling, no command was to be heard, no man left standing. 600 to count, 600 names and dog tags, 600 lifeless bodies lay still·. Altogether, not one separate, all in one place.

They had made it easier for the medics to take their bodies away, Not one stood apart but together, as one they all rode into 'the jaws of death'. What was the point? Not the 600 anymore, not a mistake, no human error was made. The valley of Death as one would come to call was not a place of misfortune or defeat, but of courage and honor.

As this would soon become the pillar of a great nation, a monument that would stand as the pride and forefront and as a message to any and all who would rally against them. All would remember the memories that remained with them, the letters had been received.

Words that would touch the heart but not bring one tear to their face. For a soul is never truly lost but always and forever remains in our hearts. This was their motto. "I am not afraid, neither should you be. I shall take this task headstrong, I learned that from you and for that I'm grateful.

We shall take care of each other as we did, as one we ride to theenemy, they stand no chance. Kiss our children for me, for if I do not return, they shall know who their father was. Build a nice tombstone for me and my friends. Do not cry for me, do not grieve for me, carry on although it may be a challenge, you are not alone.

May our triumphs and failures help those who come after us". The brave 600 stood as a tribute towards courage and heroism in the face of devastating defeat. The world marveled at the courage of the soldiers, indeed, their glory is undying, 'the noble six hundred' remain heroes and worthy of honor and tribute today. Let us not forget the six hundred and their Charge of the Light Brigade.