A Mostly Quiet Shift

A week ago, I was on night guard in a tower. I was looking out at a cold and empty desert, floodlights only illuminating a few dozen meters beyond the razor wire perimeter. It was silent besides the low electric hum of a camera monitor showing me what my eyes cannot see. I was watching a group of kids on the thermal camera. Reading their heat signatures far beyond where the light stopped. 5 small human frames glowed white hot on a screen of gray and black crowded around digging with old shovels that were all too big for them. I called it in to my platoon sergeant over the radio. “Roger. Keep eyes on,” it crackled back. I think I was looking for more guidance but there was nothing better to do in this 6×6 bulletproof cube than watch anyway. They team carried what was probably two Palmolive jugs filled with homemade explosives to their new hole and started to fill it in. The radio was silent. They ran and threw their shovels into the wheelbarrow and started to run away. One stopped. He turned and went back to their filled in hole. I figured he was inspecting it, making sure that it was not so obvious. He reached out with one foot and tapped it. No fucking way! This kid started double leg jumping up and stomped down on it, the same way I would try to crush a big box when I was around that age. I stared at the white and gray screen trying to decide if maybe I was wrong about what they were burying when the screen went white. I heard the sound a few seconds later as the white flash went gray and cleared. Just a dull whomp. I felt like there should be something more for what I just watched happen. I radioed in what I saw. “Roger,” it crackled after a moment. It was quiet then. I watched the white shapes on the screen slowly turn to the greys and blacks that surrounded them as they lost the heat they just had. I thought of whoever his mother might have been and tried not to cry. My platoon sergeant came by and had me tell him everything again. From the top, start to finish as I tried to keep from shaking. I didn’t want to talk about it but I also wanted someone older and wiser to tell me how to process it. Tell me how I should be feeling. “You good?” was all he asked. “Yeah, I’m good, Sergeant,” was all I said back.