Dust in the Wind

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Joun was dead.

It was just a matter of time now. He had stepped on a landmine. The fact that he was still alive to have such a realization meant one of two things.

Either the mine was faulty, or it was of the pressure release kind. If Joun wasn't blown up, he would dehydrate within a day in this sweltering heat. The odds of someone coming down the mortar pocked dirt road to his right were slim.

The odds of whoever might come down that road being someone other than an insurgent were even worse. His mother had begged him not to come to this war torn country for this very reason. Foolishly, he thought that studying this region would keep him safe.

Joun arrogantly wore knowledge is power as a shield. He knew everything about the current political climate: who was involved, their ideologies, temperaments, weapons, tactics. He studied all of the maps of known minefields, hot zones, territories, and the best words to say to each side to deflect their hostilities away from him.

But how do you talk down a mine? This wasn't on any of the maps he studied, nor was it the typical area of interest to place a mine. There were no encampments anywhere nearby. No one out here but poor farmers struggling to draw any kind of sustenance from this barren earth. The dust was so fine that it was nearly sand at this point.

"Why would anyone put a mine out here?" Joun asked himself, and then again, in serious reflection, "Why would anyone put a mine out here?"

It made no sense. Joun felt hope swelling up within him. Maybe his knowledge could save him after all. Logic dictated that this, in no way, could be a mine. It must be a stick, Joun thought.

Carefully, he knelt down, cognizant not to adjust the weight on his foot. He peered down at what he was standing on. But he could not see it. It was covered in the fine dust of the field.

Despite being fully convinced in his mind that it was not dangerous, his body still would not let him move his foot. He tried desperately to will his foot to lift, but it was cemented into place. He knew that the only way he would be able to move again, was to see for certain that he was not standing on a mine.

Joun began searching for something to sweep away the dust. He saw a stick nearby and was narrowly able to reach it without removing his lead foot. Then he gently swept the dust away, but he still could see nothing. So he went to one knee and slid his fingers into the small ridge made by the treads of his boot.

At first he felt nothing, but then his fingers hit something that gave him pause. A cylindrical piece of vertical metal about half an inch thick. His fingers slid up and felt three metal prongs going up into his shoe.

Joun cursed under his breath. There was no denying it now. It was an old design, WW2 old, but it was definitely a mine. A Bouncing Betty to be exact. In WW2 they would explode regardless of if pressure was released or not. That made Joun think that this one was either a dud, or it was poorly made. Either way, he was still in the same boat. Fifty fifty chance of death.

He remembered that there was a way to possibly survive, but his memory was failing him now. Of course it would fail him now. In the most vital of situations, his knowledge is power ethos left him powerless.

Why was he so stupid as to think that his knowledge made him invincible. Joun was not religious, but the quote about atheists in foxholes kept running through his mind, mocking him. He shook the thought away.

I will not be that weak. He thought. I can do this. How did you disarm these? He replayed all of the youtube videos he watched on this topic in his mind. Everyone said that disarming was impossible after triggering. Which made sense. If the originals went off immediately, you would not have enough time to disarm one.