The Commander

"Boys, you got em' directions clear?", the commander of the 7th troop threw his husky voice aloud to his fellow men for the final time before the battle began.

"Sir, yes, sir!", the resounding reply came from the soldiers in unison. All but one replied in confidence. That soldier, with sweat pouring down his forehead, seemed to have an air of clumsiness around him. His helmet wasn't neatly placed on his head, he wore an oversized uniform and his left shoe lace was left untied.

"What's ya' name, son?", the commander probed him sternly.

"Er... Jack.... Sir...", he answered nervously, trying his best to act calm.

"You ain't clear about em' directions, eh?"

"No... No, sir... I'm clear, sir... Just.. Just a little nervous, sir."

"Nervous? Son, let me tell ya' something about being nervous. You will forever be nervous if ya' ain't gettin' your butt into that battlefield out there. Standin' here sure won't help a thing. It will just prolong ya' fear. Answer me, do ya' trust my directions, son?

"..... I guess so, sir..."

"I guess so? Nah, son. You don't trust me. That's ya' problem. Until ya' learn to trust my directions and orders, only then will ya' be able to overcome your fears. C'mon son, have a little faith in me! Faith is what will take you from here to there!"

The commander gave the soldier a tough pat at the back and then walked off into his tent.

The soldier stood there in silence. He thought about what his commander said. He stood at ease, shifting his rifle down on the ground. From where he stood, he could see the enemies' walls standing tall and seemed almost impenetrable. He took a deep breath while he stretched his arms upwards.

Trust? How can I trust when I see my enemies' fortress standing before me every morning. Faith? In who, or what for that matter, can I place my faith? My rifle? My helmet? I'm in a war zone for goodness sake!

He took off his helmet and looked at it. There were many scratches on it, scarred by previous wars.

How long can I actually rely on this burnt out helmet of mine anyway? It's been through a lot and I don't know how much longer it will hold. Maybe commander is right. The core problem is that I don't trust. I mean, to be honest, his directions aren't the most logical ones. For pete's sake, even his route of escape seems irrational. What the heck is he thinking? Trust him?

He sat down on the ground accompanied by his rifle. The rifle seemed to give him a sense of security only but a brief moment. He stared at his rifle.

Indeed, you saved my arse one too many times. Again, I can't rely on you all the time. What happens if you ran out of bullets? What then? You've served me well, my friend, but you're just not it. You can kill my enemy but you can't kill my fear.

C'mon son, have a little faith in me! Faith is what will take you from here to there.

The voice of his commander played in his head like an old recorder. He knew deep down inside, his commander was right. He lacked faith in himself and in his commander. That's the real wall that's standing between him and his enemies' gate. So long as he trudge into war without the conviction of trust, he knew he wasn't going to last long in the battlefield. Bullets will come flying in, blood will be spilled and fear will strike the heart. Amid all this, the only rational thing to do is ironically, to do the most irrational thing - to trust and to trudge forward.

My helmet and rifle will fail me one day and that one day could be this very hour. But I am a soldier. My commander is my guide and in him I shall place my trust. Though I may be wounded as I fight my way through the enemies walls, faith is what will keep me going. The walls are closing in and the challenges ahead seem almost insurmountable. But in the stillness, I can hear him commanding, spurring, and pushing me forth into battle!

Just then, the first ray of sunlight broke the sky and touched his skin. He felt a sense of awakening and serenity beyond him. Jack stood up, embraced the sunlight and with his rifle and helmet left on the ground, he walked towards the commander's tent.

"Sir, I'm ready."