The sun was setting and the natural light was slowly giving way to the natural dark. We should have called it a day, but it was unanimously agreed that there was time enough for one more round of gunfire before the darkness enveloped us. We split into our designated groups, clutching our weapons tight and disappearing into the dense thicket of plantain and banana trees. The trumpet sound was mouthed loudly to call both sides to combat.
I emerged from one of the many trees supplying a jungle ambience to our combat zone. I imagined the impending spillage of blood on the green leaves and how the stems would be ridden with bullet-wounds. It made me chuckle, but not loudly or long enough. A true commander knows such reveries are not strange on the battlefield. However, they have to be quelled so the mind can concentrate fully on dangers on-hand.
It was hard to spot them at first. They had worn black t-shirts and we had stuck to our brown. In the shade of the setting sun, both troops were almost invisible. That was where my work really began. As commander, I had to be able to spot the enemy’s positioning and then covertly signal my troops for an appropriate attacking strategy.
It was easier than I expected. I squatted under the nearest dense group of trees and squinted into enemy territory meters ahead. Nothing moved for minutes, but when I saw trees walking like men, I knew I had the enemy in sight. They looked about in the shade, just as confusedly as my troops. They would soon be at the mercy of our gunfire; these dark figures gently pushing away branches with the barrels of their guns.
My troops were taught to keep their eyes on me and await my silent orders. I immediately signalled with my right index and middle fingers by pushing them towards my eyes, almost poking my eyeballs. My troops understood instantly.
I knew the black troops would stay true to their aggressive strategies. We had long since figured how intently they held on to their ‘Forward Ever’ mantra. We had suffered many losses in their previous waves of attack. When my troops froze in their spots and stared for my next order, I raised my trigger finger and spun invisible circles. They began moving into their positions for our ambush.
I inched a foot forward and could see them clearly now as they drew closer, tiptoeing on the dried leaves and soft tropical soil. My troops had deftly formed the circle of ambush I had ordered for. I nodded my satisfaction thrice.
We started firing away as we hopped from behind the trees, staining them red-blood red, bright even in the near darkness. We watched them humbly fall to their knees, and those who could manage, fell on their faces. We shot them all. Every single one of them in black t-shirts. A perfect ambush.
“Chale, let’s go. Mosquitoes are here,” I called out, and began trotting out of the thicket.
I was closely followed by my troops, happily holding their guns and sporting their brown shirts with no red stains.
Then, the black team emerged, their t-shirts spotted with the poster paint I had brought from my Father’s art studio. They slung their guns by their sides and sauntered along like zombies from some old time horror movie.