SAS Joint Operations
Steve, Age 13, England, UK

 It had begun. The worst phobia of all mankind. The one event that scares the wits out of everyone, no matter how courageous, or strong minded they think they are. My name is Brian White, Sgt. White as I'm usually known. This diary will follow me as I live through every terrifying day, right from the beginning, until the end... if I live that long.

Day 1

Today wasn't at all hectic in the slightest. Well, not yet it's not anyway. The other soldiers and me are just setting up camp. I'm not sure I was ready for this, being here, jumping to every slightest noise you hear. It's not like home. I used to enjoy the soft whispering of helicopters fluttering overhead, but now I pray to the lord it won't bomb us. At home I liked watching World War epics on the television, but now it's happening for real.

It's cold, frightening and pure agony. Falling asleep wondering every night, am I going to wake up in the morning? Constantly looking behind your back, into trees, grass, swamps, rocks, cliffs, there could be an enemy with a long range sniper rifle in any of them. Colonel Alex Stroden, a dear friend of mine, is in a much worse state then me. He has a wife and two kids.

Then there's me, just your average twenty-five year old lonely soldier. Alex, on the other hand, was twenty-seven, had thick black hair which was covered with a camouflage helmet. His face was smeared in mud and dark paint, visible for all the world to see. But that isn't the effect it gives off, invisible for all the world to not see.

His camouflaged clothes were wrapped up tightly with a black net. He lay frozen, silent in the high grass, his gun stared ahead. Alex was gazing into his scope as he scoured the lands. I looked around at the other men, Sergeant Jefferey Johnson, was slowly rubbing at the barrel of his gun. His rotted teeth shadowed his mouth while he was chewing on a strand of hard grass. I looked away.

Sergeant Nick Fleyming or normally known as Sgt. One Eye. The reason, he has one eye. The other was gauged out with a potato peeler when he was just a child. He was born and raised in Scotland.

"You alright Nick?" I would ask on a regular basis.

"No, I gotta wee problem." He would usually reply.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"The lass back home."

"Oh, women troubles?"

"Aye, can't live wiv em, can't shoot em."

"I know."

The conversations would go on forever. As I move on I encounter other soldiers. Sergeant Bradley Coston, stacking the sand bags to make a barrier wall. He was a little different, from the land down under. Born and raised in Australia.

"How have you been today then Brad?" I try to be polite, knowing I am breaking up inside.

"Oh, G-day mate, I've been fine but nice of you to ask."

I moved on.

Was I the only one who wasn't worried? Was I the only one who was breaking up inside? Am I the only one without anyone to return to when the war is over?


The day was uneventful, nothing happened. We all retired to our camps and lit a small fire.

"Oh right, now this reminds me of the outback." Bradley exclaimed.

I still miss home, it's only been a week. How am I ever going to get through this, I will never know.

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