A Day in the Life of an Assyrian Soldier

©William Wolford

I woke up this morning to a sunless sky. Today is a raid day. I felt the need to get up early so I could mentally prepare myself to slaughter hundreds of innocent people. For some reason, I always get nervous on raid days. Performance anxiety, I suppose.

I don't know why I get nervous. It isn't like I don't know what I'm doing; I've been doing this for quite some time. If I had to wager a guess, I would put it on my mentality. I don't enjoy killing people like a soldier of my kind should.

I am an Assyrian. My people tend to be quite barbaric; we enjoy war. Most of us, at least. All of the others I know do. Personally, I just don't like to take away the life of another human being. For the most part, the people we kill are quite innocent. The worst kill for me is a child or a woman. I dread the days on which I have to murder a much more fragile person than I. If I have to murder someone, I'd like it to be someone who can at least physically challenge me. It just doesn't seem quite right to kill someone who can't defend themselves.

My soul never feels quite right after a kill of a woman or child, either. The shrill cries of said women and children make me feel like my soul will be torn asunder. A man should kill none but one of his own kind. I try to allow the women and children to escape whenever I can. I will help them hide or lie to protect them if the opportunity presents itself. However, when it comes down to it, I will also do my job and end them if I must.

Killing a man doesn't bother me quite so much. Men are hotheaded. We enjoy fighting amongst each other. We enjoy attempting to dominate another person, whether it's mentally or physically, to the full extent of our abilities. A man understands why he's being killed. A man understands the way of life. A man understands that once a line is crossed, he may be killed due to unspoken principles; codes of conduct for men.

When I'm killing a man, he doesn't cry and ask where his mother is. He doesn't ask me what he did wrong. He doesn't ask me why I'm hurting him. A man doesn't feel angry at the individual who kills him, a man feels angry at the army for being so very barbaric and trying to kill anyone and anything that doesn't agree with it. The death of a man being on me doesn't weigh quite so heavily on my heart as does that of a woman or child, and the blood on my hands doesn't seem to stain quite so badly.

I realize I'm losing myself in my thoughts. I need to get things done and prepare for the raid. Normally, I'm a fairly heavy eater. Today, as I do on all raid days, I'll not be eating much. Likely not much more than a cup of water and a bit of bread.

I begin to prepare my equipment for the day. I lay everything out and then take a quick inventory to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. My mind is still as sharp as it was the day I first became a soldier. I've forgotten nothing, and now I'm ready to equip myself with my gear and begin my journey to the next village I must plunder with my fellow Assyrians. I put my things on, and exhale one last time. Then I leave the comfort of my home to go to battle once again.

I begin my journey through the village. I see a lot of my friends as I walk to meet my fellow troops. I want to smile at them, speak to them, and exchange stories with them. But I cannot. I keep a stern face and continue to walk. I know that I have to be prepared to fight today, and I hope they can forgive me for not being able to spare the time to speak to them.

I'm the first person to reach the meeting point. That's how it always is. I like to get an early start, to make sure I'm prepared. I stand, a lone figure in the morning mist, for no less than half an hour before my fellow troops begin to file in to the meeting point.

The general briefs us on today's raid. The village we are going to attack is a small Babylonian village around 35 miles west of us. We weren't told the name of the village, but it doesn't matter. It's going to end up in flames anyway.

After the briefing, we began to march towards the village. I believe there are around a thousand of us. There was little conversation going on while we were marching, but I was surprised to be addressed by a young soldier. He called me “sir” and asked me if I thought we'd win this battle.

I told him, with great confidence that I knew that we were going to win this battle. We continued to chitchat for a short while, and finally the young man gathered up the nerve to ask me my name. I told him that I don't have a name while on the way to battle, nor do I have a name during battle. I told him that if I had to give him a name to give him an idea of what to expect from me, I would have him call me Nightmare , for I show my enemies things worse than any nightmare they could imagine while I am on the battlefield.

Soon after the conversation between the young man and I had dissipated, we arrived at the village. No guards stood outside, but a large gate stood in our way to the village. Our archers used ladders to the climb the walls and began to rain arrows down on the villagers and their weak, underdeveloped army as the infantrymen broke down the gate and stormed inside.

We made short work of the village. We had killed every person within hours. Many men had the severed heads of other men as their prizes for the day. All went well, if you can call a slaughter of the innocent with a few enemies mixed in 'going well.'

All went well until I found a young woman and her little boy hidden. They were hiding in a kitchen, which my fellow soldiers and I intended to raid so we could fill our bellies with food. Had I been alone, I would've let these poor souls go. However, several other soldiers were with me, so I had to end them.

I had my comrades hold them down as I severed their heads. They both squirmed and tried to break free of the vice grips that my companions' hands formed, but it was to no avail. I killed them as quickly as I could, hoping to keep them from suffering too long.

After they were finished, we raided the kitchen. We took the food we found back to a makeshift mess hall and had a bountiful feast. The rest of the army was in high spirits, laughing and enjoying themselves after the killing was done. But not I. I could not enjoy myself after killing that woman and her child.

I couldn't stop thinking about how many we've killed like that. I allowed myself to be filled with rage, and contemplated attempting to murder every other soldier dining with me. I wanted to attempt to teach my people the error of their ways; convince them that we can be powerful without killing. Alas, I could not bring myself to kill them. I remembered that I committed myself to protect my people, and that I must do so no matter the cost.

I tried to convince myself that we killed these people for a reason, a real reason. They were a threat to the safety of my people. They were planning a massive assault on my village within the next week. However, none of these naive thoughts made my soul feel any less pain for having to kill so many people.

I wrote this down today because I wanted future generations to understand what it's like to be me. Now this has been read, and an idea can be had of what it's like to live a day in the life of an Assyrian soldier.

____________________

William "Bill" Wolford is a young, aspiring writer from West Virginia. He attends Spring Valley High School and just so happens to be obsessed with the Miami Dolphins.