Narrative for Victory Over the Cambodian Ruffians-myassignmenthelp

Question: Discuss about theNarrative for Victory Over the Cambodian Ruffians. Answer: The evening when the bombing ended, in the year 1970, I was sure that I lived my life for the country and its pride. The blood stained valley and the dirt and carbon that surrounded the Cambodian borders has relentlessly given me peace. Though I was injured through the counter attack in the Cambodian borders, I was satisfied with the service that I rendered for my country. The blood stains in my uniform- the blood of the enemies made me proud of the metal I wore in the battle. Our regiment fought valiantly and we were celebrating the victory over the Cambodian ruffians. The lieutenant appreciated the part we played in bringing down the devastation to the Khmer rouge. We teased the retreating enemy from the borders as we drank our cups of liquor. A nurse that was appointed by our regiment was attending my injured leg, which was pierced by a bullet that came from the enemy bunkers. I was pissed, as the pain in my leg grew with the evening and I suddenly felt feverish. However, the pride of my actions overpowered the injury. The gloom- dirt and the cries of the pain of the injured people of the Cambodian force filled the air. The smoke and the carbon filled the air. I felt as if my lungs sucked too much of that carbon. All the time I thought of the pain, the pride overpowered my senses and I felt the valiant actions that I undertook for the sake of the nation. Suddenly the thought of my Cambodian friend Po came into mind. How is he? Well the question could be modified a bit. Did he survive the attack? Suddenly all the pride and the patriotism disappeared. I was well acquainted with the fat loathsome guy who favored me once while I was completing my university course. No- he cannot be defeated by the bomb. The attack was huge and the impact created was terrible. The question began to take shapes of different dead bodies, which are preyed by the rats and the vultures. The picture of my friend among the dead affected the senses. No- he cannot be dead. I suddenly felt an urge to take a walk down the enemy camps with an expectation of meeting my old peer. As I walked down the streets of the Cambodian borders, I encountered victims of the war. Some were dead and blessed, while the others were withering in pain. Some of the members lost their limbs and the other organs that supported their livelihood. Some prayed at first and when I passed down some begged to put a bullet through their brains. The everlasting pain and the scornful sight of the soldiers started affecting the feeling of pride. The blood stained roads and the demolished infrastructure was carbonated. No! I cannot imagine that my old loathsome fool like friend is gone. But again, can his fat withstand the impact of the bombs? I must be a psycho to think in this manner where the situation does not seem to facilitate. The gloom was darkening as the night fell. The cries grew intense and the streets that were wrung with the blood and guts of the soldiers of Cambodia. I felt a peeking pain as a reason of the conscience that was cursing me for my involvement in the actions. As I trudged down the grey smoke smeared valley, I tumbled against something, which was lying flat on the dark grass bed. Could it be a big bullock? I took out my torch and forged the light on the creature, which was panting heavily. Po? Is that you bud? I was astonished. No answer came from the creature. It was Po. He was bathed in blood and was panting heavily. He could only utter two words mother- my mother.. and then suddenly his breath stopped. The fat- loathsome guy is gone. Suddenly I felt that the entire honor, the valor and pride for the country was drowning. The thought came into my life that I was the reason for the devastation and the loss of lives of the people. Corpses and their families wailing over the dead bodies surrounded me. The thought of the loss snatched away my pride and honor. What did our nation benefit from the bloodshed? I trudged down the valley where it was painted in crimson with the blood from the offence that we undertook at the morning. The strike shook the pillars of the epitome of humanity and perhaps crept inside the houses to rape the widows. Soldiers from our regiment ran to the houses where the women wailed. They raped the women of their status and looted whatever they could. I could not withstand the fatal game of valor and fame. Maybe I felt imperative through the outlook of the leaders that I overlooked the atrocities that the war could inflict on the lives of the people. I wanted to run away from the field, but the visions left a permanent impression, which affected the senses. Pos mother might be alive. She might be wailing over the corpse of her dead husband. I felt intuited but I never had the guts to go and face her - dead or alive. I returned to my camp with a remorse that stroke its staff through my heart. I could not believe that my comrades were still enjoying their liquor with the devastation all around them. Maybe I was one of them too who relentlessly thought of the valor and the pride that the US government would be bestowing on me. However, the death of my peer in my own arms has helped me in showing the truth of the incident. The next day, news arrived at the camp that some 500,000people died in the sudden attack that was planned by us. The bombing affected the infrastructures of the region and the loss of life. I was astounded by the news. No- was it really for the nation that we undertook such a massacre?