Steadfast

The below is a piece I wrote about the emotions for work in 2008...there is a difference between fact and emotion, but for women - emotion runs through most everything.

Standing on hot bituminous, white hard hat soaking up the solar heat, feet wet inside steel toed boots, sword slick in my grip due to sweat though the sticky blood counters the slickness.  Brown eyes squinting with a glaring lilt at the Enemy, blue hard hats, green hard hats on three sides below.

I have the high ground, at attention on an emerald and gold spec book, the weight of HQ behind me; I cannot see them.

My company, my soldiers-in-arms, are fighting valiantly among the Enemy.  My second-in-command, decorated in many battles, standing firm on the spec book or HQ wisdom (whichever rules).  The senior of the in-field squad, quoting the spec book to a dysfunctional field unit of the enemy - daggers flashing, arrows flying, bouncing off the Enemies shields of arrogance.

My medic, the environmental healer of the project, sword to sword agains the Enemy OSPC fighting hard agains indifference and Eddie Munster’s.

HQ comes!  They visit, look around, tell us that we are not enough, and leave.  We stand.

The Enemy gathers force and uses a frontal assault.  The line holds, causalities inflicted: discouragement, disheartenment.  Causalities retaliated fall onto so-what attitudes.  A volley of claims is unleashed by the Enemy trebuchets.  We fire back with flaming sections of the spec book, which are then ineffectual by the sediment basins pumping operation.

Night dawns and winter falls.  The Enemy withdraws to their main camp, one last unleashing of claims and threats of Spring.  We gather in the trailers; HQ disregarding the validity of claims, just wanting proof for the courts of the land.

HQ stands behind us; I cannot see them - just my battle brothers.