“Fleet” by Alvin Olmedo

And the women whose hearts he broke. Where do I start, he thought to himself. The last or the first? Must he really get into that now? The guilt seems to be worsening the pain in the abdomen. Time out, Private Gerald said to himself. I can’t feel guilty with this pain although he suspected that he is probably getting what he deserved for all the pain he himself has inflicted on others throughout his 26 years of existence. 

How many people in the history of dying people underwent this kind of mental anguish? Of feeling that the pain at hand while dying is just reaping what he sowed? But my transgressions in the past has nothing to do with this war, he countered. If anything, wearing this now blood soiled uniform and putting my life on the line might be the most honourable thing I’ve ever done. For my country and my countrymen. Are the gods not yet appeased?

Yes, there is that inescapable thing—making peace with his God.

Private Gerald was never the religious type. Strictly the Sunday Christian or Catholic. The Monday through Saturday worldly person, saying in his mind, almost shaking his head, eyes now completely shut.

That’s almost a guarantee in moments like this, isn’t it? People feeling regret about not seeking more the Higher Being when times were more pleasant, when there was indeed any time for that.  My life is now reduced to a life of regret, the dying soldier thought on.  And the few moments I may have left is going to be spent wondering about the what ifs if I had lived it with more consideration for people and with less selfishness in my thoughts and actions. 

Still he considered himself lucky to have this luxury (if he could call it that) to consider the life he’s had, the things he did, the relationships he’s had, and to take stock of what’s left of it.  Many others suddenly die without as much as a chance to review their own existence either to punish themselves in their minds (like he is doing now), or be thankful for all that has happened to them.

But wouldn’t it have been better if he died instantaneously like his two fallen comrades who were just yards from where he laid? At least they didn’t suffer physically. They probably never knew what hit them. It was all over in a flash. Lights out, curtains fell, end of story.

His was a slow fade out. Like a slow song, agonizing in its pace, decreasing in volume as it neared its conclusion. Except that this took, or will take, hours to finish.

A slow and painful death. Every soldier’s worst nightmare.  On hostile territory, with no rescue in the horizon. Alone with his thoughts, left for dead, and contemplating on each waking second on when death will finally come.

What happens to others can happen to you, he realized. Incredulity just makes it feel that much worse.  Even though one half expects such a scenario every time they engage in battle.  The reality, when it does happen, simply bites you hard as though such thoughts never entered your mind, like an alien concept that was previously unheard of.

He was stuck to this thought which was apparently on an endless loop when he began hearing footsteps from a distance. They must be coming from at least half a dozen people. This was the countdown he was dreading all this time. Not knowing whether they are from friendly forces or from the animals that were the Nazis.  As the sounds of feet marching became louder, Private Gerald tried to think of a white blank space in the theater of his mind.  He was determined that he was going to be a peaceful state of mind if he was going to be shot anew. That the mental agony of all the wait wasn’t going to be the last sensation he was going to think and feel before he bids goodbye one last time.

He would at least be at peace just before his own curtains fell.

But as the footsteps were mere yards away, the images of the life he’s had came rushing to fill in the blank white space in his mind. In rapid succession. All as he heard the deafening gunshots from very nearby.