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The Casualties of War

The Casualties of War

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Published by d1mat1nag
A monologue of an Army Nurse. To be used in speech class.
A monologue of an Army Nurse. To be used in speech class.

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Published by: d1mat1nag on May 13, 2008
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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The Casualties of War
(The Army Nurse Monologue)
>I could still hear the sound of bombs bursting in air. It does not seem to startle me asmuch as it used to. The residual smoke of a million rifles and the acrid odor of cordite.Blood is that which stains these hands and shirt. As it is my duty to mend men, yes-- tomend men, but never their spirits.>This picturesque view is not of green open fields, streams, and majestic mountains. But pools of red, and bodies -- Still. Without their essence. Both of strangers, and those thatI've held dear.>One soldier's tale becomes another's, and another's, eventually all. Enlisted with hopeshigh to return a hero. Survived through weeks of grueling training, knowing that the realtest has yet to come. Orders given and units assigned. Frontliners to see combat. They jump into the trenches. As the enemy charges, they open fire. Dead bodies fall, bothfriendlies and hostiles. All else is secondary, as staying alive is victory itself.>A living nightmare that seems to have no end, as comrades are bound. The fight must goon.>Another mission drawn up by the high command. And if successful, should prove to bea turning point. Set up an assult to establish a foothold that may achieve total victory.>But then something goes wrong. The plan falls apart, and squad members are shot one by one. Gasping for breath and permeated with fear. Standing paralyzed and in totalshock. Metal to the flesh is cold, but a searing pain. A fatal wound, this soldier crumplesto the ground as the end draws near.>He lays in silence, as life ebbs away. And blackness is that which fills the void.>Out there in the vastness are your sons, your husbands, your brothers. And I've watchedthe lot of them march off with glory and return in agony.>The cries of the suffering, preaching the grace that is death. Morphine for the pain, but itcannot soothe the heart as it frets of those it has left back home -- patiently waiting.Others drift unto death, blessed are those who die in an instant. Having served they diewith honor, with 'Old Glory' with her broad stripes and bright stars, on the loved one'swall, only to be resurrected in our thoughts and ways.>There is nothing like the sight of an amputated spirit: There is simply no prosthetic for that.>Is it all still worth it, knowing that it is the lives of our men that is the price of a victorythat can never be guaranteed?Dedicated to Col. Harriet Marker 

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