The slight smell of mildew in the quarter master’s store,
The smell of metal and gun oil in the armory, and the acrid smell of gunsmoke on the range.
The smell of rain, the rich earth, the leaves and the grasses.
The taste of blood, and adrenalin, and dust.
The sight of the landscapes; bush, mountains and deserts.
The sight of an ant crawling across my hand, of men forming up for a mission.
The sounds of battle, the bombs, the bullets. Helicopter, plane and drone. The screaming of orders and fighting men.
The sound of my beating heart so loud in my ears during the lull in the battle or waiting in ambush.
The pain in my shoulders from a heavy load and the multitude of small wounds. The heightened senses, the battle rage, the feeling of brotherhood and pride.
Completing the impossible.
To give all for my people, my family, our land.
These are the reasons I am a soldier.
And a warrior I will remain.
. . .