Ambush
by Tim O'Brien (excerpt)
There was no sound at all--none that I can remember. In a way, it seemed, he was part of the morning fog, or my own imagination, but there
was also the reality of what was happening in my stomach. I had already pulled the pin on a grenade. I had come up to a crouch. It was entirely
automatic. I did not hate the young man; I did not see him as the enemy; I did not ponder issues of morality or politics or military duty. I
crouched and kept my head low. I tried to swallow whatever was rising from my stomach, which tasted like lemonade, something fruity and
sour. I was terrified. There were no thoughts about killing. The grenade was to make him go away--just evaporate--and I leaned back and felt my
mind go empty and then felt it fill up again.
Symptoms
by John Steinbeck (excerpt)
They would discuss their experiences right up to the time of battle and then suddenly they wouldn't talk anymore. This was considered heroic in
them. It was thought that they had seen or done was so horrible that they didn't want to bring it back to haunt them or their listeners. But many
of these men had no such consideration in any other field.
Only recently have I found what seems to be a reasonable explanation, and the answer is simple. They did not and do not remember and the
worse the battle was, the less they remember.
In all kinds of combat the whole body is battered by emotion. The ductless glands pour their fluids into the system to make it able to stand up to
the great demand on It Fear and ferocity are products of the same fluid.