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Danger Zone: Trouble in Kosovo (Continued with more information) Matthew watched as the dust settled. He watched, clueless as to what had happened. He watched, his eyes wide. He watched with utter confusion. He looked blankly at the horrible spectacle before his eyes. Before him lay severed bodies. Debris was strewn all over the place. There were few still alive. Few still moving, but they too were dazed, dazed at the spectacle of death. People lay twisted in warped shapes. Their blank eyes stared at the survivors, no expression, no feeling. The color was gone from their bodies. Their faces were ashen, white with fear, the fear of life and the fear of death. Matthew sat on something smooth. He did not care what it was. His head still ached; sore from the blow he had received. "That godforsaken enemy!" he muttered as he nursed his wound. It was the first day of November when news of the attack reached the ears of the United States. O’Hare International Airport was reporting visibility to be at ¼ of a mile. The mist hung low at the ground at rush hour, creating a nightmare on the expressways. The sunlight could not penetrate the thick cloud cover. This truly was a dreary morning in the town of Chicago. In his car on I-55, Matthew listened to the radio. His rusty old Cadillac was his best friend. The maroon shaded car had lived with him for more than a decade. He had just had it improved. A new engine and a new interior were added to the old car, giving it a spiffy look on the interior.
The news hit the public by storm. A huge tidal wave had crashed into the family of many parents that had enlisted their children into the army. The United States had struggled to hold two ends together and keep the world in peace. It had tried but the force, the pressure was too strong, and the string had snapped. They had no choice but to go to war. The hint of a war dominated the news the next day. In the few hours before the start of war, news stations raged with accusations and compliments aimed at the US government. A heated debate took place on every news channel. Virtually no regular programming was shown, and the entire day was spent talking about this decision. The news was only part of the equation. All over the country, patriots rushed to enlist in the Army. They wanted so desperately to serve their country. The flood of patriotism surprised the President. He, like everyone else, believed that the days of chivalry and knighthood were over. This was a pleasant surprise to every American that had served in the Army. Matthew was up at his base as soon as he possibly could. His well-built body and his clean-shaven face had made him a sweetheart in high school, but it was later that he had met the love of his life. In his rough, tough commando voice, he gave a short, inspiring, speech to a huge crowd below him. "Our trust has been betrayed. We have been provoked. We were peaceful; we were serene, yet our tail has been yanked. We are the watchdogs of the world. We try to scare away any invaders that threaten the world, but if they advance… Sigh… If they advance, we are responsible to send them running back to where they came from. " Now, my fellow soldiers, is that time. We were disturbed and we tried our hardest to scare them away. They persisted and are now threatening the safety of the world. We must…We must, send them retreating." His speech was received with hundreds of cheers, and he retired. Matthew was on a ship by the next day, steaming to Kosovo. The USA was a poised cobra, sure to bite. Now the cobra was awaiting the perfect opportunity to strike. The fangs were open, and poison did they hold; indeed, now it was too late for them to fold. The hour had struck, and the order given. The battleground was a chaotic place. A place that soon lost its "prospect." Many people that had enlisted recently were on a quest for heroism. When they saw what was ahead of them… "Why?" thought Matthew sitting alone in the field of death. "Why do people think that violence and terror will bring peace? It has been done before. World War I, World War II, Vietnam, Desert Storm all famous raids and wars that were supposed to achieve peace. Instead, they cost lives, several lives that would have been spared otherwise. Lives are drained because of war and peace never comes. We always think it will, but it never does." Shouts echoed throughout the field. People charged at each other like cannibals. Gunfire rang out at a frequent pace. There were thumps of people falling, and there were groans. The emotion of the image could never be conveyed in words. People ran nowhere. Most were still alive, breathing, but all had died on the inside. The people that had enlisted recently and even the veteran’s souls had been crushed. They had perished on the inside. The fight continued, pointless as it was, it still was an intense one. The rage boiled inside both sides. They no longer hated each other. They hated life. They were angry at everything. They were angry at everything that had happened and everything that they knew would happen. The fight was only now truly beginning. Matthew was angry too. His eyes were wet, and his clothes were covered in blood. He could not think. His brain was no longer in action. His arms raised, his fingers squeezed. The action was automatic. The noises were no longer heard. The images ahead of him were no longer images. They were a blur, unintelligible figures moving with no logic, no order. As he lifted his arm, again he saw a blur moving toward him. Without thinking, he shouted, "Take me!" He threw his gun waiting for a blow. The blur continued toward him, and he felt the impact. The rage that had been inside the "blur" so long had come out. The impact knocked Matthew to the ground. He had heard his bones crack. As he fell, the pain became unbearable, and throbbed everywhere in his body. Thump… Darkness… Matthew watched as the dust settled. He watched, clueless as to what had happened. He watched his eyes wide. He watched with utter confusion. He looked blankly at the horrible spectacle before his eyes. Before him lay severed bodies. Debris was strewn all over the place. There were few still alive. Few still moving, but they too were dazed, dazed at the spectacle of death. People lay twisted in warped shapes. Their blank eyes stared at the survivors, no expression, no feeling. The color was gone from their bodies. Their faces were ashen, white with fear, the fear of life and the fear of death. Matthew sat on something smooth. He did not care what it was. His head still ached; sore from the blow he had received. A rush of adrenaline accompanied the initial attack. The forces of hatred and anger had combined to make a savage animal. The animal had sharp teeth and fiery eyes. Once these two forces of hate and anger had combined, there was nothing that could be done to stop them. He could hear a helicopter hover in the skies above. A rescue helicopter whirred above his head. From its belly emerged his rescuers. The blades whirred monotonously as he was escorted inside. It was then that he saw the battleground from above. It was then that he saw the carnage this entire incident had caused. There, before him, lay an endless carpet of bodies. The scene was too gruesome to describe. It was then that his thoughts came to him again. These innocent lives were compromised for apparently no reason. They were sent in to destroy Milosevic’s army. Their mission was successful, the entire army of Milosevic was gone now, but so was theirs. The politicians back home would tout this as a breakthrough. They would show this as a historic moment when the U.S. was finally able to end the oppression of Slobodan Milosevic. He knew that they would mention the U.S. loss of life. The soldiers who so proudly gave their lives for their country would be honored. However, he knew that even this would not be enough to thank the soldiers. Honoring a soldier would not be enough. The wave of distress that would spread like a holocaust over America would be terrifying. All the families and relatives of the soldiers would be hurt. The entire event would trigger a chain of distress. From one person or another, the chain would continue to grow. Unstoppable as the force that killed them. When he got home, General Matthew Temple was commended for his bravery. Along with him, three other American soldiers were rescued. They were all the same. They all had the same story. The story of death and distress had taken over their heart. They were stronger mentally but now they wished they were not. All they could think of was that one-day, that one moment of reckoning when they charged. All they could remember was the gun that was cocked had fired its deadly bullet. It is quite interesting to note that when I originally wrote this story it was the month of November and I had the words "This story is entirely fictional" written under the title. Now, you notice that the words are no longer under the title. The situation that is threatening to occur in Kosovo is the same situation I have portrayed in my story. NATO is considering sending in ground troops to Kosovo. The decision is extremely shaky but the story is no longer "entirely fictional." Date posted: April 11, 1999. 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