Gun 2 Up

Metal rings through the air as the steel case filled with explosives slides down a metal throat. The mortar belches a deafening thump. High-pitched ringing competes with the symphony of destruction.

Four tubes stand together tall.

“Half-load!” The conductor of death yells, vocal cords ripping through his neck.

“Hanging on two, charge two!”

Pause and behold the Lance Corporal. He holds in one hand a green mortar shell. Its silver nose ready to detonate upon impact. Pregnant with death, ready to suck oxygen with a shockwave blast of shrapnel.

His eyes focused on the round. His hands grip it halfway inside the tube’s throat. Teasing it with the taste of metal and flesh.

Awkward legs stick out in front, like a mother delivering a newborn. One leg connects straight to the earth. The other, jutting out at a low angle. Braced.

Gripping these legs like a sadistic lover another Lance Corporal holds her down. Pinning her to the earth. Forcing her to feel what it’s about to destroy.

Small handles and wheels decorate the legs. A green box with numbers, dials, and a telescope. Eyes, ever longingly seeking the red and white striped poles. She doesn’t need to know why, only where, only to look for these poles.

Clasping a round with two scrawny hands, a Private. Fearful of spurring the wrath of his Squad Leader. Fearful of everything. But respectful of the round in his hands.

The Squad Leader. Ensures the mortar is prepared and ready for its birth. He directs. Ensures that the conductor of death’s instructions are followed.

From the spinning boards of black magic, numbers are formed into a language all speak and understand. Creating a guttural symphony. Loud clashing as ammo cans fly. Harsh words are cast at slow minds. There is no room for hesitancy. Every move is sure. Soon, the tubes will bang and pound against the earth. An unruly instrument that must be held with tough hands.

We play the scene.

“FIRE!”

The Lance Corporal’s hands let go, dropping straight down. Respect the way of death. The tube belches. Ears ring. The ground vibrates as the baseplate pounds into the earth. The acrid smell of gunpowder leaves stains on every memory.

The tube is attended to. Bring her back to the way.

“Bubble.”

“Up.”

“Bubble.”

“Up.”

“Gun Two Up!”

In the distance, a crunching thump replies.