(credit to rise against for the song 'hero of war'.)

"Son, have you seen the world? Well, what would you say if I said that you could?"

Those words changed my life. I knew a lot about the war, I knew that recruits were needed but I had never contemplated actually signing up to join the forces – but now, with a medalled officer standing on my front doorstep, I saw it in a new light. I wanted to get out of England, I wanted to see the world. God knows that I’m not smart, so perhaps this would be my only chance. It would also delay starting an underpaid, crappy job, too. And I wanted to be like this man; I wanted to be respected. I wanted to be a hero. A hero of war.

“Just carry this gun – you’ll even get paid.”
“That sounds pretty good.”

Within hours I was at the army camp. Upon entering I was given handed a folded green uniform, black leather boots resting on top and was ordered to change. I did, and then stood stock-still as they shaved off my hair, showed me my bunk and then sent me into the yard to train alongside the other new recruits.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. By the end of my first week I could rhyme off my schedule: Mondays – target practice and cross country running, Tuesdays – obstacle courses, drill and physical fitness training, Wednesdays – target practice, technology and logistics training, Thursday s – team skills, survival tactics and socialisation skills, Fridays – field training and close combat training. By the end of my first month I was good friends with everyone in my section; we learned how to fight together. They were young like me and it was with a childish edge we learned to shoot at targets. I don’t think many of us even considered firing at an actual human.

By the end of the first year, I could shoot targets perfectly from long range, could defuse bombs, possessed the knowledge of about every weapon out there, had the training to handle crowd mobs and was the best close-combat fighter in my section. I was promoted to corporal and given control of the – my, section. And then we were shipped out.

’A hero of war – yeah, that’s what I’ll be. And when I go home they’ll be damn proud of me.
I’ll carry this flag to the grave if I must, because it’s a flag that I love,
And a flag that I trust.’

Running through the midst of a rundown town, we were silent. The only noise I could hear was the dull thudding of our heavy boots on the dusty ground and the heavy breathing of the private beside me. Identifying the building I had been searching for, I flattened against the wall next to the door. With hand gestures, I arranged my troops into a half-circle formation before spinning sideways and kicking open the door. There was a family sat around the table and at our sudden intrusion they started and jumped to their feet. The children began crying and running and the women pressed themselves to the wall as I crept further inside, gun held out before me as I scoped the room. My men piled in behind me and I signalled at the sole man in the household. One of them shoved a bag over his head and two of them dragged him away, out of the door and away from his family. I remained motionless, gun pointed at the weeping family as my section exited. Once they were gone, I backed out of the door and followed them.

Around the corner, the captive was sprawled on the floor and my soldiers were kicking him and hitting him with their guns. I shouted at them to stop but they rounded on me. Black and white. He was the enemy. I fell silent.
And then I joined in.

’A hero of war – yeah, that’s what I’ll be. And when I go home they’ll be damn proud of me.
I’ll carry this flag to the grave if I must, because it’s a flag that I love,
And a flag that I trust.’

I joined the army because I wanted to make a difference; I wanted to be a hero. I wanted my country to recognise me for my courage: but what was courageous about this? Gunning down innocent humans in a poorly developed country.. But I had learned to accept it. This was war. They glamorised it yet there was nothing heroic about it. Nothing.

War corrupts the best of people. I don’t think any of us even know what we’re fighting for anymore.

Turning slowly on my heels, I kept my gun pointed out in front of me as I circled and scoped my surroundings. I couldn't see a damn thing; thick smoke in all directions from the burning buildings. And then there was movement in my peripheral vision and I saw a figure coming towards me. The shape of a woman approaching quickly. I shouted hoarsely at her to stop, but she didn't. I didn't even know if she could understand me. I shouted at her again, stop, come no closer or I must shoot, but she kept coming. She was nearly upon me now and she was waving something. I begged her to stop, I begged her to stay. But she didn't. She pressed on so I lifted my gun and I fired away. The shells jumped through the smoke and into the sand where the blood now had soaked; she collapsed with a flag in her hand.. A flag white as snow.

’A hero of war, is that what they see? Just medals and scars, so damned proud of me. I brought home that flag, now it gathers dust – but it’s a flag that I love, the only flag I trust.’

a hero of war..
yeah, that's what
i'll be.
and when i come home
they'll be damn
proud of me

profile by damian.
overlay by aska.