As I move amongst the ranks of the wooded pikes men, distant archers, and brute swordsmen, I observe the wondrous area surrounding the Army of the Cross.  Arid as Helios' domain itself, the hills of sediment cast a bronze hue onto the silver cuirasses of the Holy Roman Empire.  The usually synchronized, yet tumultuous marching of the combers are now hushed in Earth's smooth-skinned hands, now cradled at her girth.  Realizing our travail, scavengers, nine vultures, soar above waiting, watching our struggle to keep on our feet.  Each bird, bald at their summit, hopes that one of the soldiers breaks their promise to family of a speedy trip home unscathed.

            For I, a mere soldier trained on a whim, hold no particular rank but only cast a diminutive shadow in comparison to the army whose size history has never seen.  This is the very reason we are to traverse to the Promise Land by foot, through Asia Minor, instead of by sea.  My great king Frederick Barbarossa has raised a military force by which gods may tremble at its sight.  Saladin is to stand in awe of the tens of thousands of the Holy Roman Empire.  So if he is to awe at us, no one can imagine the pitiful felling he must experience when on looking not only the Holy Roman Empire, but the respectable army's of the British king Richard the Lionhearted and the French king Phillip II. All these great armies form the greatest alliance ever mustered by mankind itself.  The Saracen army of Saladin will be shell-shocked as these three formidable armies bestow war upon them.

            Across the towering dunes lie ruins of past cities burdened with war, scattered, as if guarding their epic tales of destruction and greed.  And yet, now in their time of peace, a massive military nation walks in their midst, most likely making them nervous as they cannot imagine going through another horrific war.  Marching aside such silent ruins causes the men to listen to the enormous nothing around them. A cataclysmic serenity teases their thoughts, belittling them to savages, yearning for the gory raucous of war.  A lone palm tree begs for attention as its countless years of solitude may never be refunded with even the most tremendous monsoon. 

            Our great Pope's holy decree called for the religious reconstruction of the Holy Land, promised to the Israelites by God himself.  Responding, my lord Redbeard amassed all he could for the preservation of the church.  I, for one, must confess that I indeed hesitated at the thought of war, but felt I must register to fulfill my duty as a Christian glorifying God.  So I yielded my teachings and studies at the university to fight.  Saladin and his loyal Saracen army have tainted the Holy Land for years on end now without any punishment.  After going to God, the Pope declared a military assault to gain back the land of the Israelites.

            After informing the three kings of the attack, Phillip II and Richard have already set sail to engage Saladin across the unpredictable waters of the Mediterranean.  But for the force of the aged Frederick Barbarossa, we are too large to fit on any fleet of ships or galleys in the world to sail the troubling Mediterranean.  Just the size of our army is enough to strike fear into an enemy soldier that lay there eyes on her.

            So as we pass those ruins of war, the lone palm. And the golden dunes, I think about my adolescent boy and beautiful wife. Both support me in everything I do, as I do them.  They are the backbone of my life, providing me with structure and direction.  With all the hope in me I wish to see them again whether it be for the shortest time or until I die of old age.  However, my want for them does not surpass the importance of what I am marching for now.  I have no intention of failing my family and God by deserting my fellow Christians and countrymen.

            For three more hours we marched until finally along the golden horizon appeared the walls of the gorgeous stronghold Damascus.  Even controlled by the enemy Saracens, I could not stop myself from appreciating the beauty and architectural prowess this near utopia so gracefully possessed.  The ivory walls cradle the exquisite city of noble white as the town's center castle sits gloriously atop a high hill.  There it overlooks its inferior structures as it searches the surrounding regions of any possible threat; a modern Lighthouse of Alexandria.  Below the strong fort lies the houses of peasants, who can be best described to the holy Roman Empire's middle class with the wealth of this city.

           When reaching the city, Saladin's army was at their posts ready to defend not only their religion, but their family, jobs, and homes.  We stop a fourth of a kilometer's length away, staring down the enemy and visualizing ourselves making an almost immortal individual stand.  And in this stand we see ourselves slicing through the Army of the Crescent as if each man were a defenseless ewe.  I stand reminiscing of my spouse and boy, yearning to hold them before I put my life at risk.  I begin to make myself ready, but not before silent tears come down my cheeks as the thought of my family drifts away, replaced with the battle cry of the Holy Roman Empire awakes me from my live slumber.  As I watch my generals lead their steeds in front of the frontline, I can only wait until we engage the army of Saladin. They yell to us over the returning cry of the Saracens that our fighting will glorify the Lord of the Heavens and Earth, our God.  I pay no attention to that however as no glory can come of death and blood spilt on God's own Earth itself.

            As I still stand in total disarray of what they are preaching, I reiterate my life's accomplishments in my mind. Coming from the slums of Cologne to becoming a university teacher, my life has been no easy road, as my father's death was too devastating for me, boy of fourteen at the time.  This is why I must return to my own child, weighed down with grief, to make sure he has something that I did not growing up.  And, as a I search the surrounding dunes one last time, I see a lone palm tree, mocking my very existence with its cruel gaze. At that, a monotone roar suddenly emerges as the waves of men in front of me begin to shrink with distance.  The final regiment before mine sprints into the battle with great gusto. And at that, I rush into the gore where sin becomes salvation.

Keyword:

Report this story | Add to Favorites | Send to Friends | Author's Profile

No Comments posted

Comments

Post a comment

Post a comment