Houses Of The Holy

Originally written November 22, 2005

Just a few hours past midnight. I breathe deep a salty mist from the sea. I feel alive, my hair standing on end. My stomach trembles as I remember where I am, my knees go weak. The waves make only the slightest of splashes against the hull. The cloud filled night sky provides the backdrop for this lasting evening. Our boat runs silently, carrying us towards the shore. Towards Valhalla.

During the long days on watch, I stand alert looking out across the horizon for a rain to bring relief from this suffocating heat. And at night in this impossible reality it's all we can do to keep warm while standing watch. For what my world has become, tonight will keep us all looking for warmth. I imagine seeing my breath hanging on the night's air. But there isn't a light for miles. I can't tell whether my eyes are open or not, whether I have eyes to use. My world has faded to black.

A whisper behind me breaks up the engine’s purr. Thirty seconds. I look to the heavens and find a starless night. I am scared but I know no fear. I have a job to do. Twenty seconds. Final check. Cutters. Radio. Ten seconds. Firearm. Ammo. Five seconds. God, see me through to the morning.

The door opens and we drop into the ocean. My body reacts to the cold water like a seizure. Adjust. Proceed. I hear faint paddling and curses amounting to only a whisper. I can't tell whether it's coming from. I don't care. They would have heard the engines if we came any closer by boat. The last hundred yards. I don't notice the cold. I've gone numb. It should take me only a few more minutes at this pace. It won't be long now.

By the time my feet finally feel the earth again, I find wire parting the waves. I can't see it but I know it’s in front of me. The cuts on my hand tell me so. My job. The wire cutters. We take the pieces of wire fence off the shore, opening passages for those that follow us in the morning. Every step is calculated; every move is done with baited breath. Not a sound to be heard. In the tree line above sit men who would hesitate to kill me. They stare out at across the dark horizon not two hundred yards away. On the beach now, I crawl inland to find a place to dig in to the sand. I wait, patiently. Just before dawn now, the bullets will fly above us; the bombs will fall between us. Silence. I lay in my fortress, waiting to be heard.